


Never Knock

by burn_it_slow



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, I'm sorry Blue is barely in this, M/M, it is here too fyi, non-magic au, original character who spends 99 percent of his time offscreen, references to past abuse, some internalized biphobia, struggling to cope and recover from past traumas, which i know is pretty standard trc stuff but like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 12:03:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15948968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burn_it_slow/pseuds/burn_it_slow
Summary: “We good here?” Ronan sweeps a knuckle across his lower lip and glares at Adam as if daring him to say something about … any of this whole situation. Whether it’s the destroyed car, the forgotten phone number, or the gratuitous kiss from a super hot dude with an expensive motorcycle, Adam can’t exactly determine.





	Never Knock

_You are in my head_  
_When my heart's at war_  
_And if I'm ever scared_  
_I'll breathe the air in front of your door_  
_And I will never knock_  
_That's as far as I'll go_  
_It's only in my dreams_  
_When I say what I mean_  
_But I'll get damn near close_

\--Kevin Garrett

 

  

**_Hey. I can’t believe you got an email address. What are you even going to use it for? I can’t even imagine. Are you going to send hate mail to Congress or something? Sign up for a bunch of anarchy-themed newsletters? Send Gansey a thousand fake spam emails to see if he’d send his bank account numbers? Who would you even be talking to over email? Did Declan make you do it?_ **

**_Anyway, so. You tracked down my new Princeton email. Thanks, I think. You only typed three words so I don’t have a lot to go on here. Somehow I always knew you’d be a Caps Lock person._ **

**_I’m doing okay. I’m trying to figure out a way to tell you about all of it without typing an entire novel. Are you even going to read this? I don’t even know where to start. My roommate’s nice but he’s one of those headset video game players. You know? My scholarship doesn’t cover a meal plan so I got the cheapest one and I go to the all-you-can-eat place to make up for it. I’m in so much debt already and it keeps me awake at night. I signed up for one of those free credit report checking things and I’m obsessed with it. I keep looking to see if I’ve gone up or down ten points and it’s worse than when I was always trying to calculate my GPA at Aglionby. I wish someone had taught me about credit scores before now. I guess that wouldn’t have been a very popular class at Aglionby, right? Um. Did you know my GPA is a 0.000? I know, I’m a freshman, it’s my first semester, I have nothing to calculate. But it still makes me sick to see it under my name. I wish they’d block it out or put empty spaces instead of zeroes._ **

**_Here’s something really stupid: I miss my old car. That beat-up piece of shit you constantly ragged me about. I can’t have a car here - you can’t have a car on campus until you’re a junior. I mean obviously for that reason alone I know you’d hate college._ **

**_I have to go to this review session in a few minutes but I have so much more to tell you. I still can’t believe you got an email address. I’ll finish this later tonight._ **

 

* * *

 

Adam’s new summer apartment seems too good to be true.

It’s small, of course, but in decent shape, with hardwood floors that Cheng exclaimed over. It’s close to the bus line, and the landlord doesn’t seem too sleazy. Maintenance has been responsive and quick so far. He has his very own off-street parking space, even, which would only really mean something if he owned a car.

And it costs a hundred bucks less per month than any of the other places. So he’s clearly missing something. Perhaps it’s haunted, or it’ll get a weird smell at night? Maybe it’s not quite as nice of a neighborhood as it seems?

It’s not until several hours into his first night there that the real issue finally becomes clear.

Around nine-thirty, the walls of his apartment start rattling, rhythmic and alarmingly loud, the sound of an oncoming train making itself known with a rumbling deep bass note and squeals of metal.

The train is so loud he can feel it in all of his molars.

He sinks back onto the mattress, his groan of frustration swallowed up by the noise as the floor shudders beneath him, restacking all of his vertebrae one by one. He wraps his pillow around his head.

By five a.m., Adam is still exhausted. He’s been startled awake every two hours or so, completely sure each time that this next train would come barreling straight through his actual wall.

He drags himself into the shower anyway, wondering if it’s too late now to return to the apartment complex office and ask to tear up the lease, to change his mind about this place after all.

It’s not really any use to even consider it, though. All of the other apartments he looked at were in a higher price range, with even less space and shitty on-street parking. Besides, he’s not exactly a stranger to operating on a less-than-optimal amount of sleep.

Maybe he’ll get used to the noise. It’s only for the summer, after all; when this internship finishes up, he’ll be back at school again, navigating through a minefield of homemade Gatorade bongs and video game controllers in the common room.

Someday he’ll have enough saved up enough for a security deposit in an expensive high rise somewhere. Someday. Now that he’s landed this temporary night job at Henry Cheng’s exclusive garage for him and his rich friends to house their ridiculous sports cars, Adam can afford to build his savings account back up a bit, every other week, if he’s careful.

He’s always careful.

He’s greedy in the shower this morning, turning his face directly into the stream of hot water for seventeen wasteful seconds, to see if it’ll help wake him up. It’s going to be a very long Saturday at the shop.

 

* * *

 

Adam’s lunch breaks can be more awkward than relaxing, now that he’s seeing his old friends from high school on a daily basis. Their social interactions have grown complicated since Adam left for Princeton last year. Adam’s boss and former schoolmate, Henry Cheng, seems to be dating both Adam’s ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend at the same time. It’s a confusing tangle of yarn and photos and pushpins on the corkboard of Adam’s brain.

He could ask them to explain it, he supposes. Paint him a picture of how their connections have all evolved. But, honestly, his thoughts are usually elsewhere: on how to claw a respectable grip into the endless workload at his new internship, or whether he has enough quarters for the laundromat on 17th, or where he might be able to special-order an extra set of new USB ports for Henry’s dashboard.

Besides, if he’s really going to spend emotional resources on his friends’ mystifying relationships, he already has plenty to work through with what he keeps hearing about Ronan’s new boyfriend. _Carter Gabriel_ , the legend, the icon-

“Adam. You ready for a lunch break?”

Blue is hovering in the doorway to the garage, her hands on her hips as she looks him over. She probably doesn’t mean to, but she clearly still has that instinct to check him for bruises if they haven’t seen each other all weekend.

So many shadows from Adam’s past are still lurking over even his best intentions and continuing to trip him up. Blue said she loved him, back in high school; she claims she still does, in fact. But back then it was hard to accept a gift that he didn’t understand, like a book written in another language. It looked very pretty and interesting, but he couldn’t read it. So it got shoved under his bed, hidden away in the shame of illiteracy.

He’s not sure he could read it now, either. He hasn’t exactly been spending his Ivy League time socializing.

“Is it time for lunch already?” Adam blinks, carefully notching a wrench into its proper spot on the pegboard over his workbench.

“Henry says he’ll come along today. I was thinking the pasta bar.”

“Who else is going?”

“Um. Gansey, Noah. Ronan, probably. Carter’s out busking by the Metro entrance. I think we might get to hear him play if we walk back that way!”

“Yeah, I - Great. Let me just wash my hands.”

 

* * *

 

**_Hey sorry I haven’t replied yet. I got your message today, and yeah, you do have the right email for me. I had started typing you this whole long response last time and some shit came up when I’d barely started and I kept thinking I was going to go back to the draft and finish it because I had so much more I wanted to tell you and I wanted it to be worth the wait. But now some other stuff has happened and it feels stupid not to start over. I’m starting over in so many ways, I guess. This new reply will be one of them._ **

**_I almost failed a midterm._ **

**_I can’t believe I just typed that. I can’t say those words out loud but there they are. I got a C- on my World Religions exam. Yes I know I can already hear you saying “that’s not fucking failing, Parrish,” and you’ve “almost” failed a lot better than that plenty of times, I know, I know. But, Lynch, it was bad. I wasn’t taking it seriously enough, and I only have so many hours a week to study after I’m done serving scoops of mashed potatoes - literal ice cream scoops, man - to rich Princeton assholes who waste so much food, and I didn’t mean to blow it off exactly but I didn’t think it’d be an essay test! I thought my hand was going to fall off after I filled up one of those exam books. Now I know not to underestimate that prof, but shit, I can’t believe I can’t even make a decent grade on this class I thought was going to be a breeze and help bolster my GPA. It’s this required elective and I don’t even really want to take it and -- God, I know you don’t want to hear about this. It’s going to bore you to tears._ **

**_You didn’t say anything about what you’re up to. You don’t say much at all about you. Are you doing okay? Are you all alone at the farm? Is anyone else still around?_ **

 

* * *

  

Ronan Lynch has always hated his cell phone. Adam knows this better than anyone. They were best friends back in high school.

But, to be fair, everyone knows this about Ronan. It’s not like Adam has any proprietary claim over the knowledge.

And yet here is Ronan now, hunched over his phone toward the back of the restaurant, intent on the screen and nothing else. His tall, intimidatingly chiseled frame is impossible to miss, even when curled around a phone in order to absorb every fascinating texted word of Carter Gabriel.

Adam trails unenthusiastically behind Blue, wishing the steam from his pasta would just block him out entirely and swallow him up.

Their other friends are waiting for them, sprawled across one of the longer booths by the window, reminiscing about a backpacking trip they took across South America last year. Adam is content to focus on his lunch and let them tell their stories, although it feels sharply lonely without Ronan sitting right there to catch his eye and make unimpressed faces.

Adam used to be able to read Ronan Lynch better than anyone.

“He’s watching Carter’s livestream,” Noah says, leaning into Adam’s space. Adam feels his temples and cheeks become patchy with the warmth of guilt.

“Why doesn’t he just go over and watch it in person, if he’s not gonna eat anyway,” Adam aggressively spears some of his macaroni. “It’s not even that far from here.”

“He promised Gansey he’d to come to lunch. You know how he is.”

“Maybe I don’t, anymore,” Adam says, and Noah’s face is disturbingly neutral.

“Did you say he was livestreaming?” Blue cuts in, her eyes lighting up. “Is he on Facebook, or what? Hey, Lynch! Get over here, we want to see it, too!”

Adam turns back to his lunch, businesslike and mechanical.

“All I can hear are the people around him,” Blue’s eyebrows bunch up. “I can’t hear his violin at all. Why are they talking through it? That’s really rude.”

“It’s just a shitty cell phone recording.”

“I know, but I … aww, look at the comments, look at what they’re saying this song is called! Ronan’s Lament?”

Ronan snatches the phone away and blacks out the screen as he shoves it into the pocket of his dark jeans.

“He wrote you a song,” Adam says slowly. Only afterward does he understand that he’s just processed this thought aloud.

“He writes lots of songs,” Ronan says, ignoring the way Blue is tapping his shoulder with delight.

Henry changes the subject back to some kind of environmental fundraiser, perhaps catching Ronan’s blush and taking pity on him. Or perhaps just wanting to work Blue’s non-profit connection for invitations to a big soiree. Gansey and Noah are so instantly caught up in the topic that they don’t seem to notice that Ronan is defacing restaurant property. He’s procured a Sharpie from somewhere and is shading a deep scratch in the surface of the table.

“Not hungry?” Adam mutters while the others are distracted.

Once, back in their Aglionby Academy days, Ronan and Adam had been notorious for conducting their own conspiratorial conversations, smirking at their own endless inside jokes while the others chattered on around them.

Ronan shrugs, glancing up briefly and irritably from his efforts. His eyes narrow suspiciously at whatever is showing through in Adam’s expression.

Adam tears his garlic bread in two ragged pieces and hands the smaller one to Ronan, who peers at it for a few seconds before shoving it into his mouth, basically swallowing it whole. Adam rolls his eyes and drinks down more of his soda, rattling the drink to judge how empty it is. He’ll get a free refill and it’ll last him the rest of the afternoon at work.

It’s not much of a lunch break, really. Yeah, it’s technically time away from the shop, but he’s also spending all of his energy on appearing outwardly social and polite at a time when he does not feel either of those things.

The taxing nature of Ronan’s presence, specifically, is what’s grinding Adam up inside. He used to think they’d be the kind of best friends who could pick up after any length of time apart, but there’s a new awkward and forced nature to their conversations now, and it’s exhausting.

Ronan’s supposed to be his touchstone, his eye of the storm. His constant. But things are different now, and it’s Adam’s own fault. Adam’s the one who let go. Even if he didn’t intend to, exactly, it’s what he did. And he’s not sure how long he can pretend like nothing’s wrong, that it’s just like old times, and that he’s enjoying spending time with Ronan and his new boyfriend.

He wanted so badly to get this chance to fix things this summer, but now, with Ronan so close again, he’s all frozen up with guilt and nerves and frustration, and he doesn’t know where to start.

 

* * *

  

Adam’s internship is what brought him here for the summer, but it only pays a crappy stipend, so the combination with another part-time job is crucial. Henry’s paying him way too much to be here at this garage, fussing over expensive and touchy vehicles. But it’s the only way he can afford to buff up his resume with a dream internship.

Henry and his friends have the kinds of cars that Adam has only really seen in magazine ads and spy movies. Even Gansey’s beloved old Camaro is way out of a normal human’s price range. It’s a regular in the shop here, though, because it’s temperamental as hell. Adam is the only one Gansey trusts with maintenance.

It’s almost midnight; Henry lets him keep whatever hours he wants. Adam’s busy tinkering with the Camaro, and he’s happy for the fancy garage Henry had installed for no reason other than noticing the renovations being done at a neighboring estate and not wanting to be outdone. The place is spotless, and the doors are airtight, keeping out the torrential rain.

Adam maneuvered the doors closed about an hour ago when the rain started hammering in at an angle, instantly drowning several wrenches in a metal box on the cement. It’s an unwelcome irritation when the doors suddenly begin clacking back up their tracks, folding up and up to reveal a dark gray mass of metal and glass hoisted onto the back of a tow truck.

The car looks vaguely familiar. A BMW; not a recent model. All four tires are slashed to shreds, the lights are all shattered, and the windshield’s spiderwebbed with cracked glass. The hood is dented completely out of shape.

It’s a chaotic pile, an artistic deconstruction of the violent thunderstorm raging around right now.

It takes Adam a minute of mentally assembling the pieces before he finally recognizes it as Ronan’s car.

“Tell me it’s not as bad as it looks!”

Ronan’s shouting at him, but Adam can barely make out the words. He leans on the button to lower the garage door again and shut out the noise from outside. His clothes get splashed a bit just from this minute or so of exposure, but it’s nothing compared to Ronan. Ronan is so drenched, Adam can see tiny drops of water clinging like gemstones to his dark eyelashes, even from ten feet away.

Adam pulls a sweaty palm from the door controls and turns to wave at Sheila, the local tow truck driver, who is wordlessly beginning the process of releasing the BMW to Adam’s custody.

“Parrish. Hey! Can you fix it?” Ronan scrubs a palm rapidly back and forth over his shaved head, water dripping everywhere as he gazes at his disaster of a car.

“What the hell happened?” Adam demands. He’s cringing as he notices the side mirror dangling precariously from the BMW’s passenger window.

Ronan ignores this, of course. Adam doesn’t know if Ronan’s still as annoyingly honest as he was in high school, but he has no reason to suspect otherwise.

Instead of providing any explanation, Ronan yanks at the bottom of his black t-shirt and twists the fabric in front of him, wringing it like a towel. More water pours onto the clean floor. Adam feels the heat of his temper surge through him, despite himself.

“Do you still do this kind of shit? Or not?” Ronan flaps the hem of his shirt and then lets it fall back against his equally soaked skin, as if he’s accomplishing anything at all. “Like, I can have her tow it somewhere else if all you do now is wax jobs on Cheng’s Fisker.”

“I can fix it,” Adam mutters, eying the puddles around Ronan’s boots. He wonders if Henry has a mop tucked away somewhere. He’s sure Henry wouldn’t actually know what to do with one. “It’s gonna take a few days, but … looks mostly superficial. I mean, are you … uh.”

“Spit it out, Parrish.”

“You weren’t _in_ the car when this happened, were you?”

“No,” Ronan’s eyes swing very sharply and suddenly to Adam, examining him for … something. Adam’s not sure how he’s measuring up to this mysterious assessment. “Why?”

“I just … you seem like you’re okay.”

“ _Okay?_ Have you _seen_ my fucking car? Jesus!”

“All right, calm down, I said I would fix it. It’s surface stuff, right? Someone trying to send you a message?”

“You think?” Ronan folds his arms. The collar of his t-shirt has been ripped out, so the material bridges his collar bones, clinging to his skin in an obscenely attractive way that makes Adam want to roll his eyes. Must be easy for Ronan to live in the weight room if he never has to work for a living.

“I mean maybe you’re not totally past the point of someone’s forgiveness if it’s all external damage,” Adam turns his attention determinedly to the dented BMW frame as Sheila works on lowering it to the garage floor.

“When have I ever been interested in forgiveness?”

Adam considers this and shrugs. He’s too scared to really and truly answer that question.

“You think this was …” Adam stops himself; he doesn’t need to be naming this particular name. It’s not good for Adam’s temper, and Ronan likes to fight his own fights.

“Think he must’ve seen me out with Carter,” Ronan rubs at the nape of his neck.

“It’s been, like … three years,” Adam’s teeth grind. “Does he still have nothing better to do?”

“Highly fuckin’ doubt it.”

“You still have a restraining order, right? Did you call the police?”

“Okay, look, Parrish. How long is it really going to take to fix this? It’s not like you have a whole lot of other urgent shit here to attend to here. But I know you haven’t been spending your Ivy League weekends on oil changes. You still know what you’re doing? I don’t let just anyone touch this car, you get that, right?”

“That’s what they all say,” Adam slides affectionate fingertips over the side of Gansey’s Camaro nearby and then leaves Ronan behind so he can talk to Sheila and sign the papers on her clipboard.

“You’re not answering me,” Ronan growls, and Adam’s instant flash of irritation nearly snaps the ballpoint pen in his fist. “How long?”

“I’ll have it done by the end of the week,” Adam pushes the clipboard back to Sheila, who’s now looking flatly between Ronan and his disaster of a car. She gives Adam a _good luck with this bullshit, I’m out_ eyebrow raise, nods at receipt of proper paperwork, and climbs back up into the cab of her truck.

Adam has to walk back in Ronan’s direction to open the garage door again, or else he’d keep clear. If Ronan starts dripping rainwater all over Adam’s sneakers, he’s getting kicked right back out, storm or not.

The rain’s slowing down now, though, easing off the metal roof and giving Adam some room to think. He shoves his knuckles deliberately against the door controls, listening for the rhythmic clanking as the door curves and folds upward again, pressing itself obediently against the steel rails cradling it.

Sheila’s truck is barely out of the garage before an obnoxiously neon green motorcycle roars up uninvited onto the cement.

Adam sighs and takes a step back out of the way, wondering which of Henry’s rich friends will be wanting a midnight tune-up or something.

“Hey. I’m coming,” Ronan calls to the newcomer, who’s busy yanking off his helmet and shaking his black curls free.

This guy is here for Ronan, not for a motorcycle repair.

 _Carter Gabriel_.

“Can he fix it?” Carter raises his thick eyebrows. He and Ronan are looking at each other and not paying a speck of attention to Adam, so it’s an opportune time to check out the legend himself, in the flesh. Carter has full sleeve tattoos in dark ink with red and blue splashed here and there. He’s skinny and wiry and handsome.

He looks like he’s fucking _thirty_. He’s way too old for Ronan. Why is Adam the only one who’s willing to admit or even notice that?

Carter is unharmed by Adam’s dubious gaze. He’s busy unfastening an extra helmet from the back of his motorcycle.

“So. End of the week, Parrish?” Ronan turns a heavy gaze onto Adam.

“I’ll get it done,” Adam smacks a button on the laptop at the desk, to wake it up, and pulls up a new intake form. “I’m assuming price on replacement parts is not an issue.”

“Yeah, whatever, just - you know. Charge it. Text me if anything weird comes up.”

“I don’t think I, um,” Adam chews on the end of his pen, staring at the cursor highlighting a blank field on his laptop screen. “I don’t think I have your new number.”

“You never had a phone anyway.”

“In the system here, I mean,” Adam sighs. “I’m supposed to get your phone number and signature.”

Ronan pulls his phone from the back pocket of his jeans and purses his lips as he looks down at it.

“Here,” Carter lets out a little laugh, then hikes his leg up over his bike and walks over to Adam, reading off Ronan’s number from his own phone. “Ronan doesn’t know his own phone number. He never uses it.”

 _I know_ , Adam wants to roll his eyes, but he keeps his expression controlled.

Ronan frowns and puts his phone away again; his boyfriend reaches up to brush errant raindrops from Ronan’s cheek and then kisses him, swift and confident.

Adam taps away at his laptop, focusing completely on the data entry in front of him. When he dares to look up again, Carter’s already climbing back onto his motorcycle.

“We good here?” Ronan sweeps a knuckle across his lower lip and glares at Adam as if daring him to say something about … any of this whole situation. Whether it’s the destroyed car, the forgotten phone number, or the gratuitous kiss from a super hot dude with an expensive motorcycle, Adam can’t exactly determine.

“Can you just sign this for me? Not with the - just use your finger. It’s a touchscreen,” Adam spins the laptop around. Ronan squints at it suspiciously for a second, and then his fingertip glides over the screen, producing a sloppy digital version of _Ronan N. Lynch_.

“I’ll be back tomorrow to make sure you’re not wrecking my car.”

“Can’t wait.”

Ronan stalks off toward the edge of the garage, throwing a denim-clad leg over the back of the motorcycle and wrapping his arms around Carter’s narrow waist. He shoots Adam another challenging look, then dons the extra helmet, and the motorcycle takes off in a riot of rumbling noise that sets Adam’s skin on edge.

 

* * *

 

There’s a train screaming along the tracks when Adam gasps awake in the total darkness of his bedroom.

The noise is actually welcome this time. Grounding. He’s not sure if he’s awake because of the screeching metal or the way his heart must have spiked while dreaming. His chest falters in quick, stuttering surges as he tries to catch his breath.

He has nightmares, sometimes. He always did. When he was little, he trained himself to stay silent in those moments of terror, and he still does it so instinctively that he can’t really stop the reflex of it. Muscle memory keeps his ragged breaths trapped within the muzzle of his clamped lips.

This wasn’t a nightmare, though.

It had started out like one of those work dreams, the kind he has all the time, where he’s slitting open envelopes at his desk, the crappy little piecemeal office in a closet that they assigned him at his internship. He’s opening envelopes, stamping papers received and scrawling the file number, over and over, sorting them into piles. As if it’s not bad enough to be doing that shit for hours every day, now he experiences it in his sleep.

But then the dream shifted at some point. He doesn’t know when, or why, but he knows that he was dreaming about being in the garage again, but this time … on his hands and knees, with Ronan Lynch pinned beneath him. Ronan was … he was definitely not wearing anything in this dream. Nothing but a ceaseless stream of raindrops and trickles of water, highlighting the edges of his muscles. And Adam …

God, he can’t believe his brain actually conjured this up.

He’s still not breathing right. He’s twisted and trapped under his dark green sheets, cringing because he’s hard as hell.

He closes his eyes but that only makes it worse. The images are everywhere. The sounds, and the tastes. The guilt of it makes acid creep up into his chest. Ronan is his friend, his best friend, not someone he could - _Jesus_.

Logically he knows he’s sweaty because of the crappy air conditioning, but his still-groggy brain believes the moisture sticking him to his t-shirt is leftover rainwater from Ronan’s slick skin. In the dream Adam had been diligently tracing its currents and tributaries with the tips of his fingers and then his tongue. Ronan had writhed beneath him, clutched at his arms, choked out Adam’s name, thrown his head to the side.

Maybe it was a nightmare after all. He’s not sure he’ll be able to look any of his friends in the eye after this. Definitely not Ronan.

Or Ronan’s boyfriend.

Adam groans a little as he covers his face with a thin pillow. He’s pretty sure his body is burning into the bed with embarrassment and sheer horniness. In the morning there will be an outline of ash detailing exactly where Adam Parrish once lay.

The train outside his apartment begins to speed up again, the clacking and squealing diminishing rapidly, and Adam feels bereft when its intrusive noises are lost to the night. Now he’s left alone with just his own traitorous brain.

 

* * *

 

Of course Ronan drops by the garage at his first opportunity.

Adam doesn’t hear him come in, at first; he’s examining a tiny tail light bulb and considering whether he already has a replacement among his miscellany of spare parts. It’s not much of an inventory; the items he does keep on hand are extremely niche and expensive, to match the needs of Henry’s clientele. Ronan’s car isn’t quite like the others, though. It’s a nice car, sure, but at least he doesn’t have to try and translate Italian catalog pages to find the replacement parts.

“Parrish. I thought you were going to take this seriously,” Ronan’s voice startles him from an inappropriately narrow distance. Adam drops the bulb on the concrete and swears.

“Great start,” Ronan continues, his voice annoyingly deep and scratchy. “Just throw shit wherever, no problem.”

“It needs to be replaced anyway,” Adam’s fingertips scrabble mortifyingly against the rough gray floor until he manages to retrieve the bulb.

It’s difficult to concentrate on even the simplest task with Ronan watching him like that, silent and judging. Adam had sort of forgotten what it’s like to be on the wrong end of those stares from Ronan Lynch. His limbs are useless sludge.

“Didn’t bring your hot musician boyfriend?” Adam snaps before he can rein it in. He glances up from the plastic packaging and sees Ronan’s eyes narrow, lids sliding closer together.

For a minute he’s absolutely sure Ronan can see right through him, can see every angle of every terrifyingly erotic moment of Adam’s recent dream-

“He’s at work,” Ronan says, suspiciously, then aims his gaze elsewhere. “Where’s Cheng?”

“Henry?” Adam blinks, looking back toward the other side of the garage. “God, I dunno, it’s, like … seven-thirty on a Friday night, he’s probably napping. So he can stay out later. Is that why you’re here? Looking for him?”

“Well, yeah. And to make sure you’re not fucking up my car.”

“It was fucked up pretty good already, Lynch. Case you hadn’t noticed,” Adam distracts himself by dumping a tray of shattered windshield glass into a plastic trash bin in the corner. It makes a satisfyingly loud clatter, but it does nothing to calm his nerves. His fingerprints burn with dream memory when he looks at Ronan’s bare arms. He feels like he’s short on oxygen, like he’ll hear an emergency alarm blaring soon.

Ronan’s watching him in that old familiar, intuitive way, which is supremely annoying. Adam dusts his hands off on the hips of his jeans and wishes he could escape somehow. The idea of Ronan picking up on Adam’s excruciating horniness right now is making his teeth grind together.

“If you see him,” Ronan drifts over to the other side of Adam’s workbench, dicking around with whatever tools are nearest. “Tell him I think I owe him fifty bucks.”

“I’m sure you can tell him yourself if you head over to Warehouse around midnight. Tequila specials, or something, he was-”

Adam cuts himself off abruptly, his gaze flickering from Ronan to the car and back again.

“What?” Ronan rolls his eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Parrish, you are allowed to _mention_ alcohol around me.”

Adam chews at his bottom lip as his face starts to get warm.

“Never liked tequila, anyway,” Ronan grumbles, tossing a wrench into a place where it absolutely does not belong.

“I know,” Adam says, because he remembers.

“Hey, you’ve got … hold still,” Ronan’s eyebrows bunch together as he comes closer, invading Adam’s space, pinching at Adam’s shirt. Adam’s body jolts in a way that is much too dramatic for this situation. But Ronan’s sudden proximity is overwhelming, and Adam has to fight to keep from closing his eyes and letting the dream memory take control of his senses.

“Piece of glass,” Ronan backs away again, tossing a tiny speck of nothing into the garbage bin. Adam’s breath is ragged. His eyes are obsessively soaking up every line and movement of Ronan’s body as if he’s never seen his own best friend up close before.

 _Former_ best friend.

Ronan’s always been attractive, obviously; it’s always been static in the background of their friendship, but now it’s been cranked up to full volume. Adam’s shoulders are bending of their own volition toward Ronan like a magnet. He wants to graze his lips and teeth over the side of Ronan’s neck. God, he wants a lot more than that. It’s undeniable now.

“Tell me when my car’s ready,” Ronan keeps his distance, his voice different than before. Painted in a more neutral, professional shade. Ronan probably mistook the jumpiness for one of Adam’s old, instinctive defense mechanisms.

“Already said I would.”

 

* * *

 

**_Dear Ronan,_ **

**_I know it’s been forever and I’m sorry. I feel like I blinked and the first semester was already almost over. It’s hard to explain what’s happening right now. It’s hard to put into words. I’m scaring myself, a little._ **

**_I think if you were here you would’ve noticed it way before it got out of hand. The way I haven’t been sleeping or eating right. I woke up one time … well, I don’t know if woke up is the right word. I came to. On the stairs, halfway between the fourth and fifth floors of this dorm, and I didn’t remember how I got there. Sometimes when I can’t sleep I just climb the stairs, up and down for an hour or so, trying to exhaust myself. You know? Convince my body to sleep, if my brain won’t. I never had trouble sleeping before. You know that._ **

**_My roommate told me about the free counseling sessions, and I was scared enough to try it, so. I guess now I’m officially in therapy. I don’t know why it was so hard to walk in that door. I felt like I was failing. Like I was admitting I couldn’t cut it here after all, that everyone’s been right about me._ **

**_I should have talked to you about how scared I was about so many things. I know you probably knew anyway, though. You always know so much without me having to say it. But you’re not here and I have to actually say words out loud to strangers and it fucking sucks. I should have asked you if it would be okay to call you, maybe. If you’d answer it, if you knew it was me. But I don’t want you to worry, either. I don’t want you to think I’m struggling._ **

**_My counselor wants me to practice saying the words “I could” instead of “I should.” I just realized I did it again. She says “I should” is a way of shaming myself._ **

**_I didn’t know how lonely I’d be here, surrounded by other students. I should - I mean I COULD try harder to find some people to be friends with here. But I don’t know if anyone else will ever know me the way you do. Scars and all. I don’t know if I want anyone else to. It’s too much to expose someone to._ **

 

* * *

 

Sometimes it’s Blue and Noah who make Adam feel most like an outsider in his old friend group. He’s not sure when it happened, but Blue and Noah are so close now that they’re like two halves of the same body. It’s especially noticeable when they’re alone, having entire exchanges without saying many actual words aloud.

Adam remembers what that kind of friendship felt like.

Ronan’s car is taking a while to nurse back to health, but Ronan is giving Adam some space, now, and that’s probably a good thing. After that dream, it’s been draining and frustrating just to be near Ronan at all.

Adam has started meeting Blue and Noah for coffee on Wednesdays, when Blue has her nonprofit board meetings and Noah wraps up some kind of magazine delivery shift. Noah’s just as carelessly rich as Ronan, and Adam’s never sure why the boy bothers with these weird patchwork jobs. Maybe it’s just boredom. Whatever it is, it’s brilliantly plotted out to have his breaks coincide with Blue Sargent’s.

The coffee here is better than the stuff at work, where Adam has to wait in line and summon up small talk around executives taking turns on the Keurig.

Adam sees Blue reaching a hand expectantly toward Noah, who hands her the local section of the newspaper. Noah keeps the Arts/Entertainment for himself and offers Adam Sports. Adam gives him a look, and Noah chuckles before shuffling around for Finance instead.

There’s a broad stock market stripe across the top of the page with ticker symbols, but Adam’s gaze doesn’t stay there. It ends up on the date printed on top, and then he feels his veins fill up with ice water.

“Wait. This is today’s?” Adam asks, feeling dumb; what other newspaper would they be reading? But he can’t believe he let this date creep up on him.

“Yeah,” Blue looks like she just barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes as her attention snags on Adam. Her expression goes alert instead of sarcastic, for once. “What’s the matter?”

“I didn’t realize what day it was. Is Ronan around today? In the city?” Adam’s throat feels thick, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“Dunno, probably,” Noah folds the Arts section around so he can see the club listings at the bottom. “Why? What do you mean?”

“Do you know? About today?” Adam blinks over at Blue, whose expression is increasingly alarmed. They don’t know. Adam can’t possibly be the only one. Gansey would know, probably.

Carter Gabriel probably knows.

“It’s the anniversary of the, uh. The day his dad died,” Adam says, rubbing his fingers together to see if any newsprint has left a mark. He doesn’t want it getting on his work clothes.

“Oh, God,” Blue cringes, and Adam watches her share a processing look with Noah.

“He’s never mentioned what exact _day_ ,” Noah says, a little defensive, as he sets his paper aside and frowns back at Blue. “It was back before I met him.”

“Did you know him then, Adam? When it happened?” Blue asks, her voice unusually soft.

“No. But I was around for plenty of times after that, when he tried to wipe out the memory with alcohol. Does he have, like … a sponsor? Isn’t that the word for it? In AA?”

“Sort of,” Blue chews idly on the end of a wooden coffee stirrer. “I mean, it _was_ Carter, but he’s got someone different now. I think.”

“Pretty sure you’re not supposed to hit on the person you sponsor,” Adam’s voice is sandpaper as he looks at the clock above the coffee shop counter. It’s still early to leave for work, but he’s restless now.

“It wasn’t like that,” Noah shakes his head; he’s toying with one of Blue’s neon hair clips that came loose. “He really likes Ronan. He’s not some kind of sleazebag.”

Adam shrugs and frees his phone from his pocket, thumbing through his contacts to Ronan’s name and considering what he could possibly say in a text. He knows perfectly well Ronan won’t want to talk about it. Especially not now, with the way they’ve drifted apart.

 **_Hey. It’s Adam. Need to ask you something about the car_** , he lies shamelessly in a new message to Ronan. His phone tells him the text has been _Delivered_. Adam expects he’ll see that word taunting him for several hours.

“Carter will make sure he’s not alone for this,” Blue says as she rests a warm palm against Adam’s shirtsleeve. “He’ll be okay. He’s not the same self-destructive time bomb he was in high school.”

“Yeah. I know. Okay, I’d better get going, I’ve got a 9:00 meeting,” Adam grabs up his coffee and keeps the other hand on his phone, just in case. “Same time next week?”

“Totally,” Noah smiles hesitantly, replacing Blue’s clip in her hair with a gentle comb-through of his fingers.

Adam walks too fast to work and takes the stairs two at a time instead of waiting for the elevator. He has to stop and catch his breath at the top landing. He’s not sure what he’s running from, or to, but he doesn’t want to think about it quite yet. He distracts himself with work.

It’s not enough to keep the memories from haunting him, though. A year ago today he’d found himself trespassing on the roof of their high school, trailing along after Ronan, keeping him from sidling up too close to the edge of the building. A year before that, he’d let Ronan teach him how to play hearts, except the “rules” had involved taking shots of whiskey and occasionally spitting off the front porch of Ronan’s childhood farmhouse.

Adam never really had a plan to keep Ronan out of trouble; sometimes Ronan _needed_ a little trouble. But Adam had silently committed to being there, at least. One way or the other. It was all he could bring to the table.

He still has that much. For whatever it’s going to be worth now.

At 5:47 p.m., Adam rings the doorbell at the apartment where Gansey and Ronan and Blue are all staying this summer, mostly just to be near Noah and Henry again for a while.

The doorbell doesn’t _ring_ so much as _rattle_ , very loudly, and Adam jumps back from the button, like he’s been electrocuted.

No answer. Adam knocks, instead, in a way that Ronan will recognize, if he’s inside.

Heavy footsteps approach the door, and Adam lifts his chin, meeting Ronan’s unforgiving stare.

“Parrish,” Ronan squints his left eye, just faintly. “Are your car questions really that pressing?”

“I know what day it is,” Adam folds his arms across his chest, his messenger bag tight across the buttons of his French Blue shirt. He knows it’s _French Blue_ because he used to spot that color in the occasional crumpled men’s magazine, years ago. He was always going to save up and buy one of his own. Someday he’ll also have a job more worthy of French Blue.

Ronan continues to stare, and Adam sees a paperback clutched loosely and half-forgotten in Ronan’s hand. The pages are worn and dog-eared. Adam can’t tell what book it is.

Finally, after Adam seems to have passed one of Ronan’s inscrutable silent tests, Ronan jerks his head toward the inside of his apartment and turns around, leaving Adam to enter or not. Doesn’t seem like Ronan cares. But Adam knows him better than that. The quick, quiet footsteps too measured to be nonchalant. The too-straight line of Ronan’s tattooed spine.

The air is charged and precarious; Adam knows he needs to avoid the topic at hand. He has already said too much regarding his arrival on this particular day. Six words too many.

Adam steps inside and closes the apartment door behind him.

“Where is everyone,” Adam stashes his bag by the end of the couch and looks toward the kitchen and hallway in turn. Ronan is sharing this summer apartment with both Gansey and Blue, which Adam knows must be weird sometimes. But it would be nice to see at least one of them keeping Ronan company today.

“Over at Cheng’s, I guess. Sargent was … you know. _Hovering_ ,” Ronan raises his palm as if he needs to physically guard his personal space. “Told them to get lost.”

Adam is watchful, wondering if Ronan guessed that Adam told Blue about today’s significance. Ronan doesn’t seem any grumpier toward Adam than usual, though, so Adam suspects he’s still safe.

Ronan pauses his pacing and stands barefoot by the living room window, arms crossed in front of his chest, his book splayed open against his bicep, the page still marked by his thumb.

It’s gonna be one of those silent evenings. Adam knows those well enough, and he’s perfectly capable of using the time wisely. He plants himself on one end of the couch and pulls out his internship-issued laptop. He’s taking an online course this summer, and he’s happy to have some uninterrupted time to knock out a couple of chapters.

When Adam looks up to ask Ronan for the wi-fi password, he catches Ronan staring at him.

“You don’t need to do this, Parrish,” Ronan says, abrupt and dismissive.

Adam shrugs. He knows this game. Ronan has to know Adam’s not _that_ rusty, that he’s not going to take such obvious fight-bait.

“There’s no alcohol in this entire place. Gansey won’t even buy fuckin’ _hand_ _sanitizer_. I don’t have any street races to sneak out and win. I won’t need you to post any bail. I haven’t even broken Declan’s nose in a good … ten months.”

“Okay. Are you done?” Adam taps an impatient index finger against the spacebar on his keyboard. “Because I need to get online, and your w-fi’s password-protected.”

“There’s a public one just for trespassers like yourself.”

“Lynch. Come on.”

A very long and cranky ten seconds pass before Ronan speaks again.

“It’s MATERIALGIRL. One word. All caps.”

“Thanks. Or I guess thanks to Henry for apparently setting up internet access for y’all.”

“Look. I’m trying to brood over here, okay? It’s a quiet activity. So if you need to insist on being an uninvited part of that, then you need to cut the fucking chatter.”

Adam rolls his eyes, but it’s easy enough to comply. He goes to his university account and waits for the online class platform to load. In his peripheral vision, he tracks Ronan’s movements. The pacing has resumed, a slow and uncomplicated circuit allowing for a brief kitchen wander and a return to the living room window. Once, Ronan fills a glass with water, ponders it, then dumps it back down the drain in a slow, fanciful gesture. Good thing Blue’s not here to see this shit.

Adam’s read the same sentence five times now. He gives himself a little shake and is trying to focus, trying not to visually chart the lines of Ronan’s shoulders and arms from a distance, when the coffee table starts vibrating in front of him. It’s a cell phone - Ronan’s, he thinks - clattering against the glass and announcing an incoming call.

 _Carter_ , the phone lights up like a billboard.

Ronan sets his book down and approaches the phone as if it’s a loaded steel trap, or a vial of poison. His face changes when he reads the name, but he still doesn’t move to answer it.

Adam’s fingers are frozen in place over the keys of his laptop as he watches this unfold. Ronan narrows his eyes at Adam in response.

“Don’t feel like talking?” Adam ventures.

“You know I don’t,” Ronan says, sinking onto the iron coffee table. He’s closer than he has been in quite some time. Adam wishes again that he’d never had that stupid dream-epiphany. He feels so creepy about it, all this unsolicited physical attraction rolling off him like sweat.

“He seems cool, though,” Adam forces himself to remember what they’re talking about.

“Who does? My _hot musician boyfriend_?” Ronan snarks as he toys with his phone, spinning it back and forth on the glass beside him.

“I doubt I’m the first one to call him that. Everyone knows he’s hot. Anyway, is he at work? Or what?”

“He’s got a gig tonight.”

“... A _violin_ gig?”

“Yeah, man, a fucking … that’s what he _does_ , okay? What’s your problem with it?”

“Nothing! Nothing. I was just, um. I figured since it’s … it’s today, that you might want-”

“I don’t want to have a whole big talk about it.”

“I _know_ ,” Adam says, frustration making his voice squeak a little. It’s humiliating.

“Yeah, but you don’t know Carter.”

“Oh,” Adam closes his laptop, as the screen has dimmed from idleness, and he doesn’t like wasting battery power. “He’d make you talk about it.”

“... Maybe. Probably.”

Adam folds his arms across his chest, watching Ronan with open curiosity. Ronan’s stopped messing with his phone and is now tapping his fingers against the black metal edge of the coffee table he’s perched on. It looks like a weird little Morse code, his fingers alternating rhythmically. Like he’s playing a flute, Adam realizes. Or some kind of pipe. A tin whistle, perhaps.

Adam only knows what a tin whistle is because he remembers the shiny silver one inside a framed diorama above the desk in Niall Lynch’s study. Ronan’s father had possessed an endless collection of instruments, rare and beautiful and temperamental. Adam wonders what’s happened to them. Maybe Ronan occasionally plays one for his hot musician boyfriend.

Ronan looks on the verge of blurting something out, but closes his mouth again, presses his lips together, looks over at the window.

“Ronan, _what_ ,” Adam gives Ronan’s knee an insistent nudge with his foot.

“He likes to talk about me,” Ronan lets it go in one irritable exhale, his knuckles curling around the iron beneath him. “But not, like … with me. More like over me, or around me. Like I’m a story he’s collected. He’s been through everything before, but worse, and he just, like … I don’t know if he’s ever asked me a question. Any question. He’s got a lot of his own shit to work through. I mean, who doesn’t, but whatever. He says I’m a good listener.”

“You are. Well, I mean. For people you care about. You’re a dick to everyone else. Anyway, I thought you said you didn’t want to talk about it in the first place.”

“Smartass,” Ronan grumbles.

Ronan launches himself back up off the coffee table and meanders around a little more until he stops at a weight bench in the far corner of the living room. He begins noisily stacking heavy, round discs on either side of the barbell. Adam estimates it’s about a hundred pounds total, give or take whatever the bar itself weighs.

This is an activity Ronan is not supposed to do without someone to spot him; they’ve heard way too many lectures from Gansey over the years.

Adam gives up on his online homework, at least for the moment, and pushes up his shirtsleeves as he walks around to the back of the bench. It’s covered with black vinyl, cracked in a couple places. Ronan’s stretching out on his back, tilting his head from side to side as he bends his knees and twists his boots a little, digging his toes down into the floor.

Adam expects some kind of nasty comment about his own presence there, but Ronan simply lifts his eyebrows in an expectant, impatient way, until Adam holds his hands out. Adam keeps his fingertips floating beneath the bar, but not touching it, as Ronan pushes it up and out of the metal rack and lets it sink toward his chest.

This is clearly not a weight level at which Ronan needs any actual help. Adam is vigilant, naturally, but Ronan doesn’t look like he’s struggling much until about the tenth rep, when he’s a little shakier returning the bar with a clatter to its resting place.

“Have you tried asking him to listen to you, for a change?” Adam asks once Ronan has had a few seconds to rest on the bench, his dark lashes sharp against the tops of his cheeks, the backs of his knuckles trailing against the floor.

“It’s not that big of a deal, Parrish.”

“I mean maybe he doesn’t realize what he’s doing.”

“Mm,” Ronan’s eyes flutter open again, and he goes for another set of bench presses. His movements are a bit slower this time, a little unsteady toward the end. Adam focuses on the mechanics to keep from staring at Ronan all laid out beneath him like that.

He can’t think about that dream again, not now, _God_. This is not okay.

“Your turn,” Ronan says when he sits up again, swinging his arms in a little arc, rolling his shoulders back and forth.

Adam is about to refuse, reflexively, but then changes his mind. A little physical exertion might be nice and distracting right now. He unbuttons his work shirt and hangs it neatly on the back of a wooden chair, then smooths down his cotton undershirt and eases himself onto the weight bench.

He’s in the habit of doing pushups and situps in the morning before his shower, but it’s been months since he’s been in an actual gym. The free student membership on campus is nice, but studying and work always come first. So now he’s a little curious to test himself against the barbell.

“Did you really … meet him in … AA?” Adam says through his teeth as he pushes the bar up and away from his chest. The first few times are smooth and easy, but his arms begin protesting a lot more quickly than he’d like.

“Yeah,” Ronan says, sounding distracted. Adam can’t see his face, and he’s concentrating on not dropping a hundred pounds on his own throat. But he sees Ronan’s fingers curling near the bar, getting ready to grab it if Adam falters much more.

Adam summons his willpower and forces his muscles to work harder. Ronan still has to help with the last one, though, taking the weight from above and clanking the bar into its brackets. Adam’s breathing hard and stays still for a while. Ronan, ever restless, is sliding weights on and off the ends of the bar. Adam’s turn is over, so he pulls himself up to a seated position again.

“Did he just … come up to you and ask you out? Or something? At a meeting?”

Adam’s not sure how many of these questions he can squeeze in before Ronan will get pissy.

“He was my sponsor,” Ronan says, his face neutral as he straddles the bench, sitting on the other end so his knees are six inches from Adam’s. “Why?”

“I dunno. Just curious. I don’t know anything about him.”

“You’ve never asked.”

“Is it, like … a good idea to date your sponsor?”

“Of course not,” Ronan’s gaze flicks upward. “Don’t ask me shit you already know the answer to. He’s not my sponsor anymore. He’s been sober five years. He knows the fuckin’ rules.”

“Okay, okay.”

Adam pushes his watch up away from his wristbone and thinks. _Questions you already know the answer to_. That’s not _no questions at all_.

“Five years sober,” Adam begins again, tentative. “That’s a long time. For someone our age. But Carter ...”

“Christ, Parrish. He’s twenty-four,” Ronan sighs. “And you don’t have to give me a lecture about it, okay? I’ve heard it from Gansey plenty already. It’s not that big of a difference.”

“Five years is kind of--”

“Okay, move, you’re in my way.”

Adam does, and Ronan only makes it through one full set this time. From glancing at the new weight configuration, Adam guesses it’s at about a hundred and thirty pounds, now. Ronan’s got a little damp spot on his shirt, right in the middle of his chest, sticking to his skin, as he lies there, breathing heavily with exertion. His face looks more peaceful now.

Adam goes back to the couch, to his laptop.

“I didn’t mean for it to go this far,” Ronan’s voice startles Adam after a while.

“What are you talking about,” Adam clicks the Submit button on a quiz question, so he won’t lose his progress. It’s the correct answer; he just barely notes this before he closes his laptop again.

“Carter. I didn’t even really get that he was asking me out in the first place. I thought he just felt sorry for me.”

Ronan drops onto the opposite end of the couch, sitting sideways, with his back to the armrest. The couch seems a lot smaller now that they’re both curled up there, Ronan’s arm draped over the back.

“So, what,” Adam sets his computer aside, on the coffee table. “You’re telling me you _accidentally_ got yourself a hot musician boyfriend?”

Ronan purses his lips, staring over toward the window, unfazed by Adam’s bullshit, which feels about right.

“It was like, one day he says there’s this new make-your-own stir fry place I have to try, at the mall, where he works. Then it’s some … some old kung fu movie, Thirty-Six Chambers of Whoever the Fuck. Then he’s got a seat saved for me at his violin recital, up in the front row with, like, the wives and husbands and kids. And he’s introducing me to people as his boyfriend. It just - it happened - it was kinda fast. I didn’t really … I dunno.”

“Did he ask you if you wanted to be his boyfriend?”

“Not, uh. No. But, like,” Ronan fidgets and winces slightly; Adam wonders idly if this is what Ronan would look like in a dentist’s chair, or in a guidance counselor’s office. “I kissed him. And we did stuff. You know. I thought I’d have to tell him how I don’t do hookups but he just … that’s not what it was about after all. For him.”

“You don’t owe him anything. You know that, right? Just because you made out with him or did some _stuff_? You’re not obligated to him because of that. You don’t have to let him manipulate you.”

“He’s nice,” Ronan stretches out his legs a little, his toes digging into the couch cushion near Adam’s thigh. “Everyone else likes him. Everyone but you.”

“I never said I didn’t like him! What the fuck.”

Ronan frowns, raises an eyebrow.

“I just - it seems like - I don’t know, I - um,” Adam cuts himself off - God, this is humiliating. He can’t focus. He wants to grab Ronan’s ankles and set Ronan’s legs across his lap, to hold him there. Back when they were friends, they’d lean on each other like that sometimes, or sit just as close as this. Now Adam’s brain has gone and wrecked everything.

One time, on this anniversary, Ronan had cried into Adam’s shoulder and clung to Adam’s arms. Adam had chalked it up to the whiskey, but he’d still held Ronan way too close and whispered a promise that it was going to get easier, someday. That the pain’s not going to be like this every year.

Neither of them would ever have mentioned this, ever, on pain of death. Those are the rules.

“I’ve never had a boyfriend before,” Ronan pulls his knees closer, wraps his arms around them. “I don’t know how it goes.”

“Neither have I,” Adam turns himself sideways, as well, before he can overthink himself out of it. Now that they’re facing each other, he’ll be able to hear better.

“You’ve had girlfriends before, smartass, you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, and look how great those relationships turned out. I’m clearly an expert.”

“If he _had_ asked me,” Ronan bites his thumbnail for a minute. “If that’s what I wanted, I mean. I would’ve said yes.”

“Well. Good,” Adam shrugs. “Great. That’s … great.”

“You’re happy for me?”

“Of course I am.”

Ronan stares at him a little while, doing that X-ray vision thing, and Adam steels himself to it. _I’m happy for you. I’m happy for you. You’re my friend and I’m happy if you’re happy. It’s all I ever really wanted for you_.

“If you’re gonna insist on hanging out here you could at least make us some of your spicy Ramen noodles,” Ronan says, turning again quite suddenly and grabbing for his discarded paperback.

“You got some in the cabinet?” Adam grasps the idea like a life preserver, hopping up and grinning a little - he feels like he’s passed a difficult exam and now he can relax.

“Just don’t eat ‘em all, okay? They’re super expensive. Can only get them at Whole Foods.”

“Asshole.”

 

* * *

 

**_Dear Ronan,_ **

**_I know you’re going to figure this out soon, so I just need to tell you. I’m not coming home for Christmas break. My roommate offered to have me stay with him and his family. He knows a little more, now. The truth, I mean. I told him because he seemed genuinely worried, and he’s been so nice to me, and honestly it felt good to try telling someone who’s not, like, A Professional._ **

**_Gansey called me on the dorm phone. It was so good to hear his voice, Ronan, you have no idea. It felt so out of place there, somehow, hearing him on the stupid cordless phone, but I almost cried when I had to hang up. I told him I wasn’t coming back, that I couldn’t. He said he’d tell y’all, that everyone would understand. And I think you will. But somehow when I think of telling you, specifically, I feel this sort of knife in my stomach. I feel like you’re going to be disappointed in me. Maybe you’d want me to be stronger than this. I don’t know._ **

**_I don’t know if you even check this email address anymore. I don’t know why you would. I haven’t given you any reason to._ **

**_God, this is the problem. I’ve let this guilt snowball into something like a curse and now every time I start typing a new message to you, I analyze it and rewrite it and delete it again and it’s never good enough and I don’t know WHY. Why can’t I just send you a simple fucking message? Anything? It’s not like I don’t have anything to say to you! There’s so much I can’t say to anyone else! But it’s … I don’t know, Ronan, I’m so scared of not being there to tell you in person, to see your face. And because you’re so important to me, you’re the one I always let down. It’s awful and it’s not fair to you and I wish I could think about it for five seconds without having every emotion ever invented. What is it about you, Ronan Lynch. I’m so fucking confused. Everything used to be so easy with us. Now there’s not even an “us” because everything I say feels wrong or not enough or I don’t know what, and I can’t manage to stay in touch with you._ **

**_I don’t think it’s fair to you to have to deal with my shit until I can sort it out. So I keep trying to spare you from it. I guess. I’m going to have to ask my therapist about this, about you, about this wall of guilt and shame and panic in my mind and my heart when I think about you. You, of all people. It doesn’t make any sense. If you were here now you’d tell me to snap the fuck out of it. You’d sit with your back against mine and let me lean there and then I’d feel better. How were you always so good at figuring out what to do about me. You’d deny it, but you are. You’re an expert at me. I wish I was._ **

**_I miss you so fucking much and I can’t believe I’m not going to get to see you now. I was planning to explain it to you and apologize and now I don’t know what to do at all. I can’t send this. I can’t deal with this. I need to think. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Wear your good suit for Midnight Mass and don’t fight with Declan._ **

 

* * *

 

**_Your car’s ready._ **

Adam hits send on the text, then grabs an orange chamois cloth and wipes down both headlights.

Ronan’s read the message but doesn’t respond. It’s more of a companionable silence, though, this time. Adam thinks they might be on better ground, now; things feel slightly more natural and normal between them.

Adam just needs to figure out a way to tamp down on his undercurrent of guilt. He wants Ronan in a way that is very consuming, but inappropriate, and he just has to live with that. He’ll get through this summer and go back to campus and then he’ll have the temptation removed from his immediate surroundings.

In the meantime, if he occasionally has dreams about using his teeth to remove Ronan’s boxers, well. No one else needs to know.

“Did you tell him yet? That his car has been restored to its former glory?” Henry comes over, pressing a rebellious fingertip against the freshly waxed hood. Adam sighs and quickly buffs away Cheng’s fingerprint. “I should charge him double for the labor.”

“He’d never know the difference,” Adam mutters.

“True enough! You ought to put that shrewd business mind of yours to some use. Do you think I need an accountant on staff? A business manager? A CFO?”

“No,” Adam says, straightening up and twisting a bit to ease the ache in his lower back. “You absolutely don’t. You’re paying me way too much for this as it is. You don’t need more _staff_ , oh my God. You’re gonna be bleeding profit.”

“Just the sort of oversight an accountant might bring to my attention.”

“You’re also not properly licensed in the District of Columbia-”

“All right, Parrish, enough obsessing over details. We are making it work. Why don’t you take the rest of the evening off.”

“I will, I mean - I have to finish a chapter for my online class. I just need to clean up a little here.”

Henry looks at him thoughtfully, then nods and sits on a stool nearby, trying to make his phone connect to the bluetooth speakers. Henry’s got the place all rigged up as if his backup plan for the garage is to run raves there, or something. Maybe he does do that, when Adam’s not working. Adam doesn’t generally touch the sound system unless he knows he’s alone. He’s been obsessing over some very depressing music lately and he doesn’t want Henry in there feeling sorry for him, trying to get him set up on Tinder.

Adam busies himself with putting away and organizing all the tools he’s used. It’s not as hot out tonight as it has been this week, but it’s more humid. Henry has the garage doors cranked all the way open and the giant industrial fans going, instead of running the A/C. Adam appreciates this show of efficiency, but still … he can hear rumbles of thunder in the distance. And he’s sweating without even doing anything.

Henry fires up a country song. Which is so far off from what Adam was expecting that he just stands there for a minute, his eyes narrowed. Henry winks back at him. Maybe Henry thinks this is the music of Adam’s people, or something.

A motorcycle roars up, and Carter Gabriel deposits his boyfriend at the door, taking back his extra helmet and leaning over for a kiss goodbye.

Adam goes back to sorting the socket wrenches by size, his fingers shaking a little as he hears the motorcycle take off again.

“Parrish. About damn time,” Ronan goes straight for his car, paces around it in a slow, appraising, predatory circle. Adam tries not to be too obvious about watching Ronan do this. He also sweats a little more.

“Lynch,” Henry gets to his feet and brushes invisible dust from his slender navy pants. “Why don’t you ever bring Carter in past the door? You are a selfish boy. Keeping him all to yourself.”

“Fuck off, Cheng. He’s on his way to work,” Ronan says, distracted. He hasn’t taken his eyes off his car. He stops in front of it and holds the key fob up like a talisman. The car chirps happily in greeting, and Ronan breathes a visible sigh of relief.

“You didn’t believe me?” Adam folds his arms, keeping his distance.

Ronan turns to look at him for a while, but he doesn’t say anything. Soon he’s crouching down to inspect the hood where the worst scratches had been.

“Adam has been very busy with this,” Henry goes over next to Ronan. “I probably need to pay him overtime. He’s been here very late.”

“That’s not how overtime works,” Adam goes to the computer and pulls up the ticket for Ronan’s car, marking it complete. He doesn’t think Henry’s ever going to audit these records, but, whatever. At least Adam knows they’re accurate.

He scoops up Ronan’s spare keys and brings them over, holding them out until Ronan takes them.

Ronan’s looking at him so strangely, so cryptically. Adam hates that he can’t read it.

“Did you bring my fifty dollars?” Henry shoves Ronan’s shoulder with his own, getting his attention back. “That you owe me? By the way?”

“I don’t think we actually settled that one yet,” Ronan growls, pocketing his keys.

“Hmm,” Henry taps his bottom lip. “I can add it to your tab. So to speak.”

“Parrish already took my credit card.”

“I am not talking about _this_ , bro,” Henry waves vaguely toward the car.

“Oh,” Ronan glances at Adam, then back to Henry. “You mean my half of the bail. Fuck. I forgot again.”

“You always forget! Write. It. Down!”

“Can’t you just like - text me?”

“Five hundred dollars, Lynch! Next time. Or else I will send Parrish after you to undo all this beautiful work-”

“I got it, I got it.”

“I’m not actually your muscle,” Adam reminds Henry, but no one’s really paying attention to him. No one’s bothering to explain this whole bail money situation, either. Henry’s phone rings, so he walks away, chatting brightly and taking the bluetoothed music out with him.

Ronan’s still engrossed in his car. He runs the side of his thumb over the top of the driver’s side door.

“I can’t believe it. It looks newer than when my dad had it,” Ronan says -- or at least, Adam _thinks_ he says that. Adam can barely hear him over the roar of the fan in the corner. He’s not entirely sure Ronan even knows Adam is still standing there.

“You want me to drive it around a little, then? Get it all dusty again?”

“You fuckin’ wish,” Ronan stands up straight, spins around.

“I told you I could fix it.”

“I know. I know you did. I just - it looks good. Really good. Thanks.”

“Just doing my job.”

“Oh, whatever, Parrish. Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?” Adam shoves his hands down into his pockets and takes a couple steps closer.

Ronan frowns at him, then at the fan, and stalks over to turn it off. His footsteps are heavy as he returns and glares at Adam.

“I didn’t mean it like I couldn’t _hear_ you,” Adam mumbles toward the cement floor. He’s so mortified and yet so taken aback by the strength of his surging feelings for Ronan, all at once, he’s not sure anyone else would notice how difficult those kind of background sounds are for him--

“I said,” Ronan cross his arms over his chest, “don’t pretend you’re just Cheng’s good little worker bee and you’d do this for anyone. Look at me. Can’t you ever just … be honest with yourself? Or with me?”

“I …” Adam swallows, his throat suddenly raw. “I don’t know what you want me to say, here.”

“Of course you don’t. Just … forget it, okay? I’ve got somewhere else to be.”

Ronan turns back toward his car, going for the driver’s side door. Adam’s heart drops. He reaches out and catches Ronan’s wrist, stopping him out of a desperation that bubbles straight up from the pit of his stomach.

“Ronan,” he holds tightly to the bunched-up leather wristbands he remembers so well. “If you’re gonna be pissed at me then at least tell me _why_.”

“I don’t have to tell you shit. You don’t tell me anything anymore!” Ronan pulls his hand back, and Adam’s fingers clench and unclench of their own volition.

“Oh, I don’t tell _you_ anything? What the hell happened with you and Henry that required _bail_ money?”

“You’d know if you’d have talked to me even once, you asshole. Even five minutes out of your precious new life.”

Adam falters and takes a staggering step backward, holding his forehead to try and calm himself down.

“I think you know better than anyone all the reasons I needed to - to make myself a new life. Away from there,” Adam manages to say despite a lump in his throat.

“Yeah, I do, Parrish,” Ronan says. “Better than anyone. But did it need to be away from _me_? You just … you totally fucking ghost on me, for a year! And then you expect everything to be the same, right where you left it, when you come back? Whenever _you_ feel like it? How stupid do you think I am?”

“I don’t -- I don’t think you’re stupid,” Adam mumbles, shakes his head, tries to find some kind of ground to stand on. He’s been expecting to be called on this, to fight about it, even, but that doesn’t mean he’s ever figured out what to say in his own defense.

“I made an email address! I mean, God! Fucking _email_ ,” Ronan starts pacing around, back and forth, left and right in Adam’s line of vision. “Maybe I am that stupid.”

“Okay, listen to me,” Adam swallows again, forces his body to obey him in this. He’s needed to get through this for a while now. “I didn’t mean to disappear on you. I didn’t want it to happen like that. I swear. I just - I’m gonna be honest with you here--”

“Don’t start now on my account.”

“Ronan, shut up for a second,” Adam turns a quick little circle, reminding himself to breathe. “It was a lot. All of it. Moving to college, finding my way everywhere, all on my own. It was so much harder than I expected. I had kind of a meltdown. I wasn't coping very well. And I … I kept trying to figure out a way to get rid of the bad stuff in my past but hold onto the good things. And I didn’t mean to lose contact with you in the process. I messed that up. I know that.”

Ronan’s frowning, watching him intently, listening to every word.

“It didn’t have to be all on your own,” Ronan takes a step closer, so they’re at arm’s length. “I would’ve driven you there, if it would’ve helped. I would’ve come to visit you, or something, if you’d given me, like, even the slightest hint you wanted me to!”

“I know. I know, okay? I’m sorry. I kept starting over, sending you a different email, but there was always too much to say, and so much more that I never really knew how to face with you, how to talk to you about it, even when-” Adam stops himself short. He doesn’t want to go too far. “And I was breaking down and not wanting you to find out, to worry about me. Then I would feel guilty about how long I’d gone without talking to you, so I’d dread it even more, and I’d put it off again - I know that’s not a good enough reason. I have a bad instinct for avoidance.”

“You’re supposed to be my best friend,” Ronan pokes a finger into Adam’s chest.

“I know. And I didn’t know how hard it was going to be, to be so far away from you, it was - I was scared.”

“Yeah, well … So the fuck was I! You left and didn’t look back.”

“You left me first,” Adam confesses in a burst, then presses his lips together and closes his eyes, wonders if he’s still and silent enough that the words won’t actually reach Ronan-

“I _what?_ ” Ronan demands.

“You dropped out,” Adam says, because he can’t think of a way out of this now. And because it still feels heavy on his chest. “With only one semester to go. And everywhere you were supposed to be, in school, suddenly you - you weren’t, and it wasn’t the same, and I - I hated it. So much. That wasn’t how senior year was supposed to go. You couldn’t just finish out one more semester.”

Ronan’s eyebrows are pressed together as he stares at Adam in what looks like shock. Adam’s fairly shocked himself that he’s dug so deep into the past, so instinctively, just for a weapon he can use in this fight.

“That,” Ronan pronounces eventually, his lips twisting up, “is not the same thing. At all. I didn’t stop talking to you entirely.”

“I know.”

“If it bugged you so much for me to drop out then why didn’t you say anything? Christ, Adam. You’re the one who told me to quit if I wanted to!”

“I don’t …” Adam shoves his hands into his pockets again. “That place was … I knew you hated it. I knew you were doing what you had to do. It would’ve been so selfish for me to ask you to stay.”

“Maybe it would have,” Ronan says after a moment. “But I would have _known_. Do you get that? You have to stop doing this to yourself. And to me. You pretend so much and so easily that you can’t even tell what’s real anymore, man.”

“Oh, so now you’re an expert on that?”

“Fuck off, quit turning it all back on me. You know that’s what you’re doing! You just have to be the winner at everything, all the time, right? I can’t take any more of your shit right now. Thanks for busting your ass all night to fix my car in barely a week even though it’s just your fucking job.”

“Ronan, come on, I’m sorry. Ronan!”

Adam calls out to him, but he knows it’s not going to matter, not this time. He’s used up whatever last chance Ronan felt like offering him.

Adam trudges over to the tool bench, squeezes his fingers around a heavy socket wrench, imagines the force and impact and damage of smashing it into a wall. He stays that way a long time, until the anger and fear go a little quieter in his heart. At least enough to make his way back to his own apartment.

 

* * *

  

**_Hey, Ronan. Happy fucking Valentine’s Day._ **

**_Never knew how big of a thing this holiday would be on campus. Even the cafeteria where I work made me serve heart-shaped cookies today. God._ **

**_Blue called me. I guess Gansey told her how to get me on the dorm phone. It was a little awkward at first but I was still really glad she did it. I feel like she and I can be friends again. Like, in a real way. It was weird there for a while. But I’m happy she’s happy with Gansey._ **

**_My classes are going slightly better this semester. I felt a little less overwhelmed, maybe? A little more familiar with my own patterns. Therapy helped. I also let my roommate drag me to a couple of social things at the LGBT center. He got involved over there like … week one. He’s much more comfortable with like … the words, and stuff? I don’t know if I am, yet._ **

**_You and I never talked about it. I mean I think you sort of knew, about me, didn’t you? I knew about you. But you never tried to pretend to be anything else. I’m not saying I pretended, but I’m not sure I understood there was anything available to me besides like straight or gay. I thought I was just fucked up._ **

**_Okay, anyway, the point is that I’m trying. I’m trying to make some friends and build a village or whatever my therapist would say. What she doesn’t understand is how you have spoiled me on what friendship is supposed to be like. I don’t want anyone else’s kind of friendship. There’s nobody else like you. God, you had so many terrible ideas that turned into adventures. Good and bad, I guess._ **

**_Blue says you went to six AA meetings before you told anyone you were going. I wonder if you would’ve told me. If I were there. Or if I hadn’t let us drift apart like this. I don’t know if I can really tell you how proud I am of you. I know you’d roll your eyes._ **

**_I wonder what it’d be like if you came to visit me. If you just showed up and surprised me. Sometimes I let myself imagine it, when I’m walking back from class. That you’ll be there in front of my dorm, just sitting on your car, waiting for me. That you’d forgive me and come sit on my floor and tell me everything you’ve been up to._ **

**_It’s 11:27 p.m. and I can’t sleep again. I wonder what you’re doing right now._ **

**_I miss you so much all of the time and I don’t know how to tell you without it sounding creepy._ **

**_I’m sorry I’ve turned you into my own personal diary. It’s not like I want it to be a one-way conversation. But, God, it’s not a conversation at all anymore, is it? I’d have to actually send you one of these. For that to work. Maybe I’ll start over right now, I’ll really send you one. Has it been too long? I wonder what you’d say. I wonder if you’d even want to read it. I wouldn’t blame you, if you didn’t._ **

 

* * *

 

According to Google, the best flowers to use for a gesture of apology are roses, carnations, hyacinths, orchids, or tulips.

None of that sounds right. Roses are supposed to be romantic, right? And aren’t carnations for friendship? Maybe carnations would be good. But they’re also kind of cheap. Would it be too tacky to be taken seriously?

Adam sighs and closes out the browser tab. This is (a) so, so stupid; and (b) not something he’s authorized to be using the work computers for, even if he’s clocked out for lunch. Which he is, for the record.

He can’t send Ronan flowers. He can’t send flowers to someone with a _boyfriend_. This is extremely stupid.

He just needs to go over there and apologize some more, until Ronan’s ready to listen. Adam’s not just going to give up on this because Ronan laid into him. It was going to happen sooner or later, and now it’s time for Adam to make amends. Adam knows Ronan’s fuse is short, and once he blows up, he’ll calm down again.

At least he hopes that’s still the case. Ronan’s surprised him a lot over the last few weeks.

“Adam! Hello!” Gansey greets him at the front door of the apartment. Adam senses instantly, somehow, that Ronan’s not there. He tries not to let the devastation shimmer through in his expression.

“Hi, Gansey.”

“Come in, come in! What’s the occasion?”

“Actually, I was sort of ... looking for Ronan,” Adam steps inside and gazes over toward Ronan’s door, which is closed tight.

“Ah. He’s out with Carter somewhere, I think. Do you want to hang out a while, see if he surfaces? I’ll get you a Coke.”

Adam perches tentatively on the couch and thinks about how he was just there with Ronan, working on his online homework while Ronan paged through his book or wandered listlessly or built towers out of empty soda cans. He wonders why Ronan let him sit there practically all night without launching into the fight he’d been carrying around all this time. What was different, that night? What set Ronan off this time?

“Thanks,” Adam accepts a can of soda and pops it open as Gansey does the same with a squarish bottle of cold-pressed juice drink. It’s lime green. Adam tries not to make a gross face. Ronan’s not here to appreciate it anyway.

“How is the internship going? So far?” Gansey settles himself onto an armchair nearby.

“It’s not bad. It’s not really … I’m not doing what I thought I’d be doing, but it’s … it’ll be good on my resume. I just wish they would give me a little more supervision, I mean they just dropped me in a room with a ten-year-old training manual and I think immediately forgot about me … and … um. God. Gansey. Can I ask you something?”

Gansey spreads his hands in a welcoming, receiving gesture, which Adam takes to mean: _Anything_.

“You and Blue, how did you still get to … where you are … with Henry … when he was all the way in California? At college? Wasn’t that kind of hard?”

“Well,” Gansey shakes his juice drink around, staring into it as if to prepare for a serious portent. “It wasn’t easy, no. The distance is awful. But Henry’s very good with FaceTime. And sometimes he records little videos of just … everyday things. Eating breakfast. To let us see what his life is like out there. It’s nice. It helps.”

Adam can’t help but smile a little, imagining Henry Cheng’s private broadcasts from Stanford cafeterias, confidently talking into the camera for his boyfriend and girlfriend and not giving a shit whether everyone else thinks he’s crazy.

“I haven’t been a very good long-distance friend,” Adam chews at his lip for a second; it’s not just Ronan he fell out of contact with. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right, Adam. I understand. You’ve had a lot on your plate. It’s Princeton, for God’s sake.”

“I know, but I didn’t have to just … fall off the face of the planet. Ronan’s right.”

“I admit I was surprised when I found out Ronan hadn’t heard much from you, either,” Gansey presses a fingertip to his chin as he looks over toward Ronan’s door. “I presumed you’d be in touch with him, if anyone. You guys were always so inseparable. On your own secret wavelength.”

“Yeah,” Adam feels his throat threatening to close up again and drinks down some of his Coke.

“Adam, hey. If Ronan’s angry about it, you have to know - it’s just out of worry. For you.”

“I know,” Adam says, automatically, politely.

But then he sits back a minute to let these words sink in. Worry. He tries to put himself into Ronan’s shoes, not hearing anything, even the simplest _I’m okay I’ll tell you more later_. Knowing Adam’s past as intimately as Ronan does.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” Adam lets his head sink back against the top of the couch and gazes up at the ceiling; there are little pinpricks in the corners of his eyes and he doesn’t want Gansey to get all freaked out about it. “I think I was just afraid. About how awful it was to be away from him. I think I …”

“What,” Gansey prods, gentle and patient. Adam recognizes that tone of voice; it’s the one his counselor used, at Princeton, the one the school supplies to students in need, free of charge.

“I think I was finally starting to figure it out. How I really felt about him. It’s taken me so long to understand. That I was kind of … in love with him, actually. And it terrified me. It still does. In a lot of ways.”

“Oh. My,” Gansey says slowly; Adam has to pick up his head again to see Gansey’s expression, which is one of revelation.

“How did _you_ know, Gans,” Adam leans forward, on his knees. “Like … with Henry? That it was … you know. More? Like, were you expecting that to even be a … a possibility?”

“Did I already know I was bi, you mean?” Gansey says so matter-of-factly that Adam has to catch his breath for a second.

“I … yeah. I guess so.”

“Well. I’m not sure how you’re going to react to this, considering the context. But to be completely honest with you, it was, ah. Ronan. Who first made me realize.”

Adam blinks a couple of times, looks at the way Gansey’s blushing near his ears.

“I was still pretty young, Adam. Twelve, thirteen, maybe? I didn’t really understand at the time. But I’m sure of it, now. It was a crush.”

Adam has to cover his face against a bubble of hysterical laughter at this. It’s humiliating. He also has tears in his eyes. His body is cycling through various emotional reactions in a total roulette wheel of panic.

“It was a long time ago,” Gansey rubs a palm over Adam’s shoulder, and Adam hiccups.

“I think I always sort of knew,” Adam says very quietly, when he can breathe again. “That it was a possibility for me. To have a crush on a guy. But, you know. I didn’t like to think that way about … about my best friend. I couldn’t allow it, I thought it meant I was, like … taking advantage of our friendship, or our closeness, or something. I felt like - I still feel like such a - a creep.”

“I get that.”

“I used to think when I got to college is when I’d feel more okay about whatever I was, when I’d finally be brave enough to admit it to myself, to think about it more openly, with strangers who wouldn’t necessarily know how uncool I was about it all. And now I’m there, finally, at college, after all that time, and I’m just - I can’t stop thinking about _Ronan_ , because of course, right? God,” Adam groans into his palms. “And then I finally see him again. And now my brain is on the 24-hour Ronan channel, all day, all night. And of course now he has a boyfriend. You know? Of course he does!”

“Oh, Adam. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. It’s … fine, sorry, I just …” Adam rubs aggressively at his eyes with the heels of his hands, tries to get a hold of himself. “I know it’s bad, don’t tell Ronan this, please. I just - I hate that guy so much.”

“Who? Carter?”

“Yes,” Adam winces. “It’s just jealousy. I know that. Logically.”

“Well,” Gansey shakes up his juice drink and carefully loosens the plastic cap. “I don’t hate him, not at all. But I don’t know if I like him dating Ronan.”

“Go on,” Adam laughs, self-mocking, and the sound cuts into his own stomach.

“I don’t feel comfortable with the way he approached Ronan. In AA,” Gansey tilts the drink cap back and forth between his finger and thumb. “Also I think he’s too old for Ronan, but that’s not as important. Mostly I don’t think he appreciates or even cares to know Ronan for who he really is. But, you know. This is just between you and me. I can’t tell Ronan this. You know he’ll get annoyed and rebellious and dig in even harder.”

“Mm,” Adam glances over at Ronan’s door again.

“Carter does seem sweet enough, otherwise, though. And sober. So. That part is good. And I do think you’re letting jealousy color your feelings about him.”

“I know. I acknowledged that. It’s not like I’m going to do anything about it. I want Ronan to be happy. Period. So. I’m supporting whatever he wants.”

“Just … give him some time,” Gansey gives Adam’s knee a little squeeze. “He could never stay angry at you for long.”

“We’ll see,” Adam sighs. “Thanks, Gansey.”

“Do you want a distraction? I could use some advice choosing from the mock-up logos for our new environmental coalition.”

“Yes. Please. Let’s see what you’ve got,” Adam scoots up and off the couch and follows Gansey into his room, toward his computer. The hallway is stuffy and silent.

 

* * *

 

Five more days go by. Six. Seven. No sign that Ronan Lynch even exists anymore, let alone would ever want to talk to Adam again.

Adam knows, deep down, that this is for the best; this is the only way to force himself out of his relentless crush, and to give Ronan some space. But the unspoken apologies weigh on him, clawing at his stomach with their little talons. He types out pathetic text messages on his phone and deletes them again. He goes to Ronan’s apartment but always ends up killing time with Gansey instead, as Ronan is never home.

He lies awake at night, and now he’s so used to the trains that he actually resents it when the sound fades away, leaving him with nothing but silence and guilt for company.

 

* * *

 

“I know something,” Noah says, tapping the end of a plastic spoon against the counter, rapid and frenetic. “But I’m not supposed to tell anyone.”

Adam looks up from the Finance section and shares a suspicious glance with Blue. Around them, customers are starting to give Noah dirty looks.

“When you say you can’t tell anyone,” Blue covers Noah’s hand, stilling him instantly, “you don’t mean _me_. Or Adam. Right? I mean, come on. You can trust us.”

“The thing is … I think Adam really _needs_ to know. But you can’t tell him _how_ you know. Or I’ll be … you know,” Noah presses his lips together grimly and drags a fingertip straight across his throat.

“Why does _Adam_ need to know? That’s not fair,” Blue wrestles the spoon from Noah’s fingers and tickles him near his armpit until he elbows her away.

Adam is distantly concerned they’re going to get themselves kicked out of this coffee shop one of these Wednesdays. He supposes they can always go to the Starbucks across the street.

“Quit it! This is serious,” Noah gasps, scrambling back onto his chair and shoving at Blue until she stays on her side of the table.

“You know you have to tell us now,” Adam leans on his elbow. “Or Blue will never let up.”

“Okay, okay, like I said, you did not hear this from me,” Noah gathers himself up. “You know how Ronan had to get that, um. Restraining order. Back in high school.”

Adam nods slowly, glancing at Blue - he can’t remember how much of this she knows. She went to a different school.

“Well. You-know-who. Has been around.” Noah drops little clusters of words like breadcrumbs.

“I know,” Adam’s jaw locks up momentarily. “I’m the one who put Ronan’s car back together.”

“Oh. Ronan didn’t tell me what was actually wrong with his car,” Blue’s brow furrows.

“The police want Ronan to come in this afternoon and answer some questions,” Noah says fretfully, tugging at Adam’s suit jacket. “I heard him, on the phone last night. They’ve already made a DUI arrest and a bunch of other property damage type of shit, and they’re. Um. Establishing a timeline. You don’t think they’d make Ronan look at a lineup, would they? Is that only on TV shows?”

“Fuck,” Adam whispers, pinching at the bridge of his nose. He pulls his phone out, then puts it back again. “This afternoon, you said?”

Adam’s got work, obviously. But Adam also gets three days’ worth of paid time off this summer, and nobody seems to care too much whether he’s there or not, as long as the mail gets sorted and the files get organized. He works in a glorified supply closet.

“Don’t you dare tell him I told you!” Noah points when Adam’s holding his phone again.

“Noah, come on, he’s gonna know. How else would I have found out? You know you told me this so I’d go do something about it. That was the whole point! He’s my best friend. I can’t un-hear it!”

“Oh, wait, I know! Tell him you heard from Blue. I told her first and then _she_ told you.”

“Hey!” Blue pinches Noah’s arm, and he squeals in protest.

Adam isn’t really paying attention anymore; he’s thinking about which police station it’ll be. He pulls up Google Maps to do a search. Then he types an email to his boss, letting her know that he’ll be leaving early for the day, just like she asked him to do when he wants to use his paid time off.

“I’ve gotta go,” Adam hits Send and throws back the rest of his coffee. “There’s some kind of form I have to submit before I use any leave time. I think.”

“Adam,” Blue grabs at his arm. “I know y’all are fighting, but just - you’ll make sure it’s okay. Right?”

“Of course I will,” he squeezes her hand. “Noah, thanks for, uh … not … telling me.”

“Anytime.”

 

* * *

 

As it turns out, there are lots of different possible police stations and offices around the area. Adam tries three before someone recognizes the Lynch name.

“I’m not actually Mr. Lynch,” Adam clarifies to the officer at the front desk, who is eyeing him up and down, unimpressed. “I’m his attorney. Adam Parrish. I’m sure he clarified that I’m supposed to be present for any questioning taking place today.”

“I don’t have you on the list, Mr. … Parrish, was it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Mm-hmm. Why don’t you take a seat over there, then, and wait for your client.”

“Perfect,” Adam smiles a polite, easy, Virginia smile and straightens his tie. “Thank you for your time.”

Adam has no earthly clue what time Ronan has an appointment here, but apparently it’s not happening yet. He sits down and tries to portray the bored confidence of an attorney on retainer for a rich family. Or even the slight confidence of someone who’s, like … old enough to have passed a Bar exam.

He keeps his eyes glued to his phone until Ronan walks in. Adam’s sitting on an uncomfortable plastic chair over to the side of the front desk, so Ronan doesn’t notice him there and would have no reason to expect him there. The front desk officer says something that Adam can’t hear, as he’s facing the wrong way, and then she points in Adam’s direction.

Ronan’s eyes go wide, then flat again, and Adam can see Ronan’s jaw clenching from ten feet away.

“Czerny,” Ronan mutters, when he’s seated on Adam’s right side, “is fucking dead.”

“Shh,” Adam pockets his phone again. “What time are they supposed to talk to you?”

“Three-fifteen.”

Ronan avoids eye contact, staring moodily at the wall. He’s put on his most intact pair of dark jeans for this occasion, and a simple white t-shirt with no random zippers or torn-out hems anywhere, which is basically the Ronan Lynch version of business casual, Adam supposes--

“Quit looking at me like that, Princeton. You think I was gonna put on a tie for this?”

Adam hides a laugh with a yawn and looks up at the clock. It’s three-twelve.

“How’d you figure out when and where,” Ronan hisses, his knee bouncing.

“I, um … didn’t,” Adam admits, just as another officer pokes her head into the waiting area. She’s holding a tall notebook, and she peers over it at Ronan and Adam, taking them in fully and individually.

“Mister Lynch? I’m Detective Navarro. If you’ll follow me? Just have a few questions; it won’t take long.”

Detective Navarro doesn’t even wait to see if Ronan’s standing up. Ronan swallows audibly beside Adam and then starts to get out of his chair.

“Don’t let them grill you about your own record. It’s not relevant,” Adam reaches out to give Ronan’s arm a squeeze. “Don’t sign anything without showing it to--”

“To who? To a _lawyer_ first? Oh no. You’re not getting out of this now, asshole,” Ronan whispers. “Come on.”

Ronan raises his eyebrows expectantly, nodding toward the hallway, so Adam follows. He’s not sure how long he can keep up this lie - he’s not sure he’s actually gotten away with anything anyway -- but if Ronan wants him there, they can’t stop him.

As it turns out, the questions are mostly harmless: a recounting of Ronan’s whereabouts on the night his car was damaged. Adam just happens to have a detailed mental inventory of said property damage, which the detective dutifully notes.

There is some prying into the reasoning for Ronan’s continuing restraining order, though, throughout which Adam knows he can’t hold Ronan’s hand or anything, so he just sits there and silently wills Ronan some strength and endurance.

When the detective even mentions having run Ronan’s own rap sheet, Ronan glances at Adam and then smugly mentions how his lawyer says that particular line of questions is _not relevant_. Adam tries not to laugh from sheer awkwardness and nerves.

God, Adam wants a peek at that piece of paper, though. The curiosity about whatever the hell incident Cheng referred to is frankly monumental.

Ronan is asked if he’ll provide a written statement, if needed; he says they’ll have to ask his lawyer. Adam sighs and writes his cell number on the detective’s notebook.

Afterward, Adam trails after Ronan out onto the street. He wishes he could feel like he’s done something good today, but instead he feels sort of … useless. Ronan’s collapsed against the outside of the police station, his head cradled in both his palms, scratching slowly and repeatedly at his buzzed scalp.

“How’d you get here,” Adam asks, hoisting his messenger bag over his head, settling the strap across his chest. “Did you drive?”

“Walked from Noah’s,” Ronan mumbles. “It’s like five blocks.”

“Okay. So. Where’s Carter right now. Is he at work?”

“He’s playing over at the Metro station tonight,” Ronan slides his palms to the back of his neck. “Why?”

“Let me see your phone.”

Ronan stares at Adam for a while, elbows pointed out, and Adam isn’t sure if Ronan is traumatized, or still not speaking to Adam, or what.

But, after a minute, Ronan slides his phone from his back pocket and shoves it into Adam’s hand.

Adam finds Carter’s name in the contacts and calls him.

“Ronan?” a voice greets him after three rings.

“Hey, it’s, uh … This is Adam. Ronan’s friend, from high school? We met at the garage?”

“Oh, right. Cute mechanic guy. Hey. What’s up?”

“I was - was just thinking,” Adam stammers. “Ronan’s had kind of a shitty day. Could you meet us over at Noah’s?”

“Is he drinking? Is he asking you to get him alcohol?”

“No,” Adam shakes his head, as if Carter will pick up on this somehow. Ronan’s watching him, wary and dangerous. “No, that’s not what I meant.”

“Oh. Cool, okay, just checking. Sponsor instinct, you know? I’ll be over in a little while, no problem.”

“Okay. See you soon.”

Adam holds the phone out, and Ronan grabs it with a cold glare.

“Come on, you have to show me where we’re going,” Adam backs up a step, away from the police station. “I don’t know where Noah lives. I didn’t want to tell Carter where you really were, in case … you know. That’s not my story to tell.”

“I know it’s not,” Ronan’s gaze flicks skyward. “You want a fucking medal?”

“God. Come on, which way.”

Ronan leans his head back with a deep, put-upon sigh, and swivels toward his left. Adam follows for about ten long steps before Ronan slows down enough for Adam to catch up.

“I’m still pissed at you,” Ronan says suddenly, stopping to point at Adam in an accusatory fashion.

“I know.”

“Just so that’s clear.”

“Perfectly.”

“Just because you magically show up when I fucking need you all of a sudden doesn’t mean you’re--”

“I _got_ it,” Adam closes his eyes, just for a second, because he’s not going to cry in the middle of the goddamn street.

Ronan takes a couple of steps, but turns around and scowls impatiently until Adam starts following him again.

 

* * *

 

~~**_Dear Ronan,_ ** ~~

 

~~**_Hey, Ronan,_ ** ~~

 

~~**_Hey, Lynch, I bet you’re surprised to see my name in your email inbox_ ** ~~

 

~~**_Hi, I know it’s been a while. I’m sorry I haven’t written yet. It’s been so crazy_ ** ~~

 

~~**_Ronan, are you still there? Do you hate me_ ** ~~

 

~~**_Ronan, I miss you, I miss you_ ** ~~

 

* * *

 

Adam has to work on his birthday, as usual. However, because of the luck of adjacency to a national holiday, he always gets the next day off.

Gansey has clearly planned something, and there’s no talking him out of it. Adam knows this.

He takes the bus from his apartment and meets everyone at Cheng’s at noon, as instructed. Gansey and Blue have their heads together, whispering in a strategic huddle; Noah and Henry are arguing for control of the sound system.

Ronan’s over at the pegboard. Adam’s mouth drops open as he realizes Ronan has managed to put every single tool away on the wall either upside-down or backwards or creatively switched around, each one personally insulting its white, pre-set outline, like some kind of industrial sculpture.

“Birthday boy!” Henry sees Adam and comes over for a fist bump. “Bro, I told him not to mess with your stuff. But you know how he is. Unrepentant vandal.”

Ronan peeks over his shoulder, caught in the act. Adam flips him off, and Ronan skulks over to sit on the hood of Gansey’s Camaro.

“It’s _your_ stuff,” Adam grumbles to Henry. “Technically.”

“Oh, I don’t know what any of those things do,” Henry waves a dismissive hand. “All right, Richard-man, everyone is here! Where are we going?”

“We’re getting on the subway first,” Gansey announces, and everyone sort of circles around him, because this is what they always do. “It’s a surprise!”

It’s hard to keep the Smithsonian museums too much of a surprise, though. They’re kind of a main feature of D.C., and they have their own Metro stop. It’s one of those things Adam always says he’ll do, but never has. He could never afford any of the Aglionby field trips - even the ones everyone else thought were the cheap ones.

The thing about the Smithsonians is that they’re free. Also it’s summer, and a holiday. So the line for Air & Space alone is where they spend about half an hour. It’s crazy hot out, with the sun almost directly overhead, and nothing around for shade.

Ronan stands next to him, which feels like unspoken progress. It also gives Adam that weird new self-consciousness that bubbles up through every moment he’s anywhere near Ronan, now. He wonders if he’s sweating too much, if he brushed his teeth well enough, if his hair’s sticking up or getting plastered to his forehead.

“Adam, was this a bad idea? For your birthday?” Gansey leans in to ask, glancing around nervously at the rambunctious crowd.

“No, Gans, don’t worry. It’s great. I’ve been meaning to go all summer.”

“We might not get past the one museum, at this rate.”

“This is the one I want, though,” Adam shades his eyes with his hand as he looks up at the front of the building. They’re on the steps, now; they’ll be inside soon enough.

“You hate flying,” Ronan watches him sideways; Adam can’t see his blue eyes through the dark sunglasses he’s got on.

“I know. I know, but it’s not like the _building’s_ going anywhere. Right? Besides, maybe it’d be good for me to face a fear once in a while.”

Ronan looks at him more fully but doesn’t say anything.

Blue is dabbing sunscreen onto Noah’s already-pink nose and cheeks, but it only matters for about five more minutes. Then they’re past the entrance, hurrying into the blessed air conditioning, and Adam’s trying not to get stampeded by elementary school kids.

“Look up there, you see that? We’ll meet back here, if anyone gets lost. Under the Spirit of Saint Louis,” Gansey points at the suspended airplane; Adam looks up and feels an ugly pull of vertigo. “Three o’clock.”

“Can’t I just page you like I do at the grocery store?” Ronan says, and Gansey gives Ronan’s shoulder a smack.

“I’m hungry,” Noah whines. “I told you we should’ve stopped somewhere for lunch.”

“We’ll eat here! Surely there’s a cafeteria,” Gansey flips through a map or brochure of some kind that Adam’s not sure how he even procured. He points in a pioneering fashion toward the end of the museum, to the left, and they all forge ahead very dutifully, only to discover that they will be eating lunch at a McDonald’s. A McDonald’s that probably costs twice as much as the normal ones do.

“Oh,” Gansey makes a face. “Do they do salads? Do you think I need to pay in cash?”

“God,” Blue groans and leaves him behind, making her way to the order line. Adam follows her, and she insists on buying Adam’s fries, since it’s his birthday.

All of them find little ways to get around Adam’s annual “no presents” rule. Noah gets him a milkshake. Henry has made him a playlist, apparently. Gansey “somehow” has two tickets to the IMAX film about the space station.

Ronan’s present seems to be a truce, as far as Adam can tell.

Because none of his friends can even agree on which exhibit to visit next, they scatter without meaning to. Adam finds himself alone for a while, wandering through a less popular area dedicated to the planes of World War II. Then he wanders over to the model rocket ships and rests his elbows on a wooden railing, staring out at the vessels, distancing himself from the throngs of kids who want to climb inside and pretend to be astronauts.

“What are you moping about on your fucking birthday,” Ronan’s voice startles him from behind.

Adam straightens up a little as Ronan comes up next to him and leans carelessly over the railing.

“It’s not really my birthday anymore,” Adam focuses back on the rocketship and its sleek figure. He remembers a comic book series about Martians that he’d read in the library once. It had been missing two different issues in the middle, but Adam had still devoured it.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry I didn’t say happy birthday,” Ronan says, and he sounds surprisingly sincere about it. “On your actual birthday.”

“Wasn’t really expecting a greeting card.”

“Anyway what are you doing. Staring at these things,” Ronan points.

“I dunno. I was just thinking about how much I would’ve liked a rocket ship like that. When I was younger.”

“I highly doubt that. You’re not great with the flying.”

“Maybe not,” Adam rests his cheek on his hand, watching kids climb up into the pretend cockpit. “But it would’ve taken me away. From _him_. From both of them. That was all I ever dreamed about.”

“Yeah, well,” Ronan says. “Still would’ve been pretty uncool of you to leave me all alone back here on Earth.”

Adam turns to see Ronan’s face, to gauge his expression. He gets a rare opportunity to study Ronan’s profile without protest.

“It’s three o’clock,” Ronan leans back, tilting his head to peer over at Adam. It’s an extremely unfair pose. Adam has a feeling Ronan knows exactly how good he looks like that, all lazy, coiled energy. “Time to go.”

They meet up with Gansey over by the airplane, as instructed. Then they wander around on the Mall for a while, and eventually they get pizza for dinner. It’s a memorable night, full of laughter and nostalgia. Ronan’s not talking to him, exactly, but he’s not ignoring him, either. He seems to be saying close purely out of a years-old habit.

Adam will take that.

The next night when he arrives at Cheng’s to do an oil change on Gansey’s Camaro, he spots something unusual waiting for him on his workbench. It’s a toy rocket ship, about six inches high. Adam turns it over and over in his hands. He takes it home and balances it on the windowsill over his bed before he goes to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Saturday’s here in the blink of an eye, since Adam had a random weekday off for the holiday. Blue and Noah come by Cheng’s for lunch, and they’ve got Ronan with them this time.

Adam wrinkles his nose as Ronan crowds in beside him in the booth at Five Guys.

“Since when do you smoke,” Adam leans over even more, confirming the smell is coming from Ronan’s general direction.

“Oh. This is Carter’s,” Ronan says, shrugging out of a thin violet hoodie. “I forgot.”

“Carter smokes?”

“Way too much,” Blue’s mouth turns down as she slides in beside Noah on the other side of the table. “I wish he’d try to cut back a little. I think he’s already got himself a smoker’s cough.”

“I smoked for a while,” Noah pulls a yellow lighter from his pocket and flicks it a few times. “I was the coolest kid in fourth grade.”

“Please don’t burn down the restaurant,” Blue snatches away the lighter and puts it over by the wall, out of Noah’s reach. “At least not while we’re occupying it. Okay?”

“You’re no fun.”

“Where _is_ Carter, anyway,” Adam checks his receipt to make sure they haven’t called his number yet. He hates these scenarios where you have to listen out for someone to call your name or your coffee order. He’s always paranoid he won’t hear it properly.

“Why,” Ronan stabs a straw down into his drink, “do you ask?”

“I mean … why does he never come to lunch with us? Is he busy? Or what?”

“Yes,” Ronan says, at the same time Noah sighs dramatically.

“I don’t think he likes us,” Noah clarifies.

“He does too like us,” Blue nudges Noah’s shoulder. “He’s just got a lot going on. Right, Ronan?”

“He’s got his own friends,” Ronan shrugs, squishing his straw wrapper into a tiny little crumpled ball and tossing it at Noah.

“Ronan doesn’t like to expose his boyfriend to our _uniqueness_ ,” Noah gives Ronan’s boot a kick under the table.

“That’s such a good word for it,” Adam laughs a little. Ronan gives him a tired look of acknowledgment.

“What about you, Adam,” Noah wiggles his eyebrows. “You haven’t said anything about your social life back at college. Anyone waiting for you at Princeton? After this summer?”

“Oh, God, no,” Adam’s eyes widen, and he shrinks back into his seat a little. “I would’ve told you if I were, um. Seeing someone.”

“Would you have, though,” Ronan mutters, and Adam shoots him a _shut up_ glare. He’s not having this fight again, not in front of Blue and Noah.

“So there’s just been, like … studying and work? At college? No exploits?” Noah smiles, hopeful.

“ _Exploits?_ What the hell,” Blue pinches him, and he yelps.

“Okay, okay, sorry! No romantic … um. Successes?”

“I haven’t exactly had a lot of time for that,” Adam rubs at the back of his neck. “There was this sophomore. A girl who was our orientation leader. You know? We went out a few times, but it didn’t really … go anywhere. And there was …”

Adam chews at his straw for a second. He doesn’t know why this is so hard to say out loud. These are some of his closest friends, after all.

He’s really trying to be more open with them. With Ronan, particularly. By request.

“There was this guy who worked at the library. I don’t even know what I was thinking with that. Made out with him in the biography section. But he’s, like … he was just kind of … using me. It wasn’t serious to him, so.”

Adam goes back to his soda, gulping it down nervously.

“Adam Parrish!” Noah exclaims, slapping his hand onto the table. “I thought you were my token straight friend! Where am I going to find another straight friend? I keep running out of them.”

“Sorry,” Adam shrugs, and then grins, a certain relief overtaking him. Blue shakes her head and laughs.

Ronan’s the only one not laughing, actually. Adam can’t look at him for long. All of Adam’s courage drains in a split second of Ronan’s flat reaction.

Up at the counter, Adam thinks he hears them calling his number. He bumps his arm against Ronan, just the slightest touch to alert Ronan, who has to get up to let Adam out.

Ronan’s quiet for the rest of the meal. Not unusually so, to anyone else, but in a way that signals to Adam that something is up. Something private.

When they get back to Cheng’s, though, even after Blue and Noah depart, Ronan’s still perched up on a high workbench, his boots swinging in the air, his expression pensive and grumpy. Adam has a slow afternoon ahead of him, an oil and filter change. A tire rotation. Ronan has kept him company for plenty of Saturday afternoon oil changes in the past. When they were best friends.

Maybe they still are. Or can be, again. Adam thinks of the little rocket ship in his bedroom window.

“Hey,” Adam comes over, as he’s zipping his coveralls back up. “Stay and talk to me for a while?”

“About what,” Ronan spins one of the looser leather bands around his wrist.

“Anything you want,” Adam suggests. “Everything. I don’t know. Do you have to be somewhere?”

Ronan looks at him carefully, steadily, and shrugs.

 _I want us to be okay again_ , Adam thinks deliberately, and lets it show through in his eyes, where he knows Ronan can read it. _I need us to be okay again_.

“Tell me about the farm. Is Declan really running it this summer, while you’re gone? Just … just come down here where I can hear you better,” Adam says, trying not to sound too desperate.

He wants to leave this up to Ronan, so Ronan can decide. So he backs up a couple of steps and goes over to the black Lexus propped up on the ramps - it belongs to a friend of Henry’s. He pops the hood open and waits, leaning over and watching Ronan again.

“Declan wanted to turn the place into a … _destination winery_ ,” Ronan pronounces with distaste, hopping up to his feet and slowly making his way closer. Adam’s heart floats inside his chest, does a tiny little flip, as he sees Ronan drag over Henry’s wheeled metal chair.

“That is kind of a thing now, I think,” Adam bites his lip against a triumphant smile, trying to fold it back into his mouth. He doesn’t think it’s actually working. “In Virginia.”

“I know. Believe me, I’ve heard.”

“Can he do that, though? Like … any of it?”

“No. But he could hire somebody who can.”

“He only owns a third of it. And you’re - what are you going to do? Literally live at a facility that exists to produce and distribute alcohol?”

“You’ve never really been able to appreciate irony.”

“At least not this particular example,” Adam wipes his hands on a rag that he’s draped over the hood of the Lexus.

“Yeah, well. I don’t think that part occurred to him at first. He’s backed off about it now that he’s thought it through. Now Matthew’s pitching all his own ridiculous ideas.”

“So how long are you staying in D.C.,” Adam slides an empty oil pan down around where it generally will need to go.

“I dunno. We only have the apartment through the end of August. Gansey and Sargent will have classes starting by Labor Day, so. I guess around then.”

“And then what,” Adam crouches down by the rear of the car, looking up at Ronan to gauge his expression. “What about you and Carter? Doesn’t he live here year-round? Are you going to have a long-distance thing now?”

“Parrish, come on,” Ronan sighs, his shoulders lifting and dropping again. “Why are you so worried about Carter today.”

“I’m not,” Adam admits, placing a block behind the tire. “I’m worried about you.”

“I can handle my own shit.”

“Okay, I know.”

Adam works in silence for a few minutes. It’s not until he’s got the oil draining that he hears Ronan speak up again.

“I’m trying to figure out how to break up with him,” Ronan says.

Luckily, Adam’s still wheeled under the front of the car at this exact moment, so Ronan can’t see the expression on his face.

His work is done, at least for as long as it takes for the oil to drain out, so he shuffles back out from under the car. This also gives him enough time for his pulse to slow down a little.

Adam sets the plug aside and comes over to sit on the cement, looking up at Ronan and giving him his full attention.

“I heard you,” Adam assures him before he asks, pulling off his vinyl, oil-stained gloves. “I’m just processing.”

“I don’t know how to break up with someone. I don’t want to hurt him,” Ronan scratches at his elbow, looking up at the ceiling.

“Why would you … Why, though?” Adam shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”

“Because I’m not in love with him.”

“Okay. Okay, but, like … were you expecting to be? Already?”

“How long is it supposed to take?” Ronan rests his arms on his knees; he has to lean down to see Adam there on the floor. “Is it that fucking weird that I’d want to be? By now?”

“No,” Adam tries to swallow, but his throat’s kind of clogged. “No, I just … um. How are you so sure about it? How do you know?”

“I just know,” Ronan levels a challenging stare, and Adam’s all frozen up. He can just hear the oil slowing down as it drains, drip-drip-dripping into the metal pan.

“Okay,” Adam says again, pulling his knees up to his chest. It’s not a very comfortable place to sit, and he needs to get up soon anyway. Also, he’s starting to panic that Ronan sees more than he should, that he’s just daring Adam to encourage this. Adam doesn’t feel like playing chicken.

“Would you know?” Ronan’s eyes are still so intense. “If it were you.”

“I, um,” Adam feels his own eyes widen, and he looks around at anything else but Ronan. “Yeah, actually. I think so.”

“Okay then. So, look, I like him. He’s a good person. But he’s not my person. I’m not his, either, and I don’t want to pretend or to waste any more time. He doesn’t want to know what’s going on with me. He always says likes our _talks_ , but he doesn’t want me to actually say anything. He just wants to talk _at_ me. I think at first I thought that I might as well go with it, that it was better than I deserved anyway.”

“That’s stupid,” Adam clasps his hands, traps them between his knees so he won’t reach for Ronan. “You have to know that.”

“So you think I should break up with him?”

“Jesus, Ronan,” Adam holds his forehead and groans. “Please don’t ask me that.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Just don’t. It doesn’t matter what I think. Do what you think is right for you. And I’ll support you. Okay? I just - just want you to be happy.”

“Then tell me how to break up with someone.”

“Ohhh, no,” Adam shakes his head, hauling himself up to his feet. “No way. You said you could handle your own shit.”

“Fine,” Ronan folds his arms, looks around at the walls of the garage. “Where’s Cheng.”

“God knows. By the pool, probably.”

“A lot of help you’ve been,” Ronan stands up and gives Adam’s workboot a little kick before turning around and leaving again.

Adam has to stare at the gasket in his hand for a full minute before he remembers what he was doing with it.

 

* * *

 

**_Dear Ronan,_ **

**_Happy Easter. Hope you got through church today without any incidents._ **

**_Guess who I just got off the phone with. Oh yeah, I have an actual real phone now. I looked up all the plans and contracts and I found one I could afford. Anyway. I talked to Cheng for like an hour and we figured out how I can take the internship I want and still manage to survive. The internship only pays a little stipend but Henry’s got this ridiculous new garage now? An actual working garage at his house in D.C.? He says you’ve seen it. He says he’s going to pay me to work there, and I can work whenever I want, and he doesn’t care, he just needs someone he can trust. So I think I can make it work._ **

**_I’ve been better about getting back into touch with everyone. Everyone but you, of course. Blue and Gansey said they’re going to be in D.C. too and it’s going to be a whole thing. Noah’s there already, right? I never thought I’d get to see everyone without having to go back to that place. But it feels that way and I’m - it’s too much to even process yet._ **

**_Okay but here’s the thing, Ronan, it doesn’t work unless you’re there. Henry says you like the AA meetings better there anyway and you’ve stayed there with Declan plenty of times. It won’t be the same without you. I know you and I have a lot to figure out and work out but if you were there it would be …_ **

**_I can’t imagine it. I don’t want to let myself._ **

**_I need to figure out a way to apologize to you, to make this right again. I need you back in my life._ **

**_Henry says you’re doing good, though. Was he serious that you’re seeing someone now? A guy from AA, really? I mean that’s great, that’s great. But what the fuck. I can’t picture it. Ronan Lynch has a boyfriend? What’s he like?_ **

**_Why does the idea of you having a boyfriend wake me up in the middle of the night. It’s just so … so weird, Ronan. I don’t know. I don’t know._ **

**_I tried calling you, when I got my phone. Six times. It keeps saying the number’s not in service. Do you even understand how much I had to psych myself up to dial your goddamned number? Did you forget to pay your bill? I need to fucking talk to you, Lynch. Not like this. I need to hear your voice. Could you please for once in your stupid life just pick up your phone. Even if you don’t want to talk to me anymore, just give me a chance to explain._ **

**_Please just come to D.C. for the summer. You’ll have to, if your boyfriend’s there, right? Boyfriend. God. Who even are you anymore. I need to go to sleep. I feel like I’m coming down with something and I can’t afford to miss class right now._ **

 

* * *

 

“Welcome to our support group,” Noah takes Adam by the hand and leads him dramatically to their usual Wednesday morning table, at the coffee shop. For some reason, Henry and Gansey are with Blue and Noah today. Adam doesn’t like when everyone’s there except Ronan. He clears the frown from his face when he realizes he’s doing it.

“What support group have I stumbled into,” Adam takes a chair on the end and looks around at his friends. They do have decidedly bummed-out faces.

“They are having some difficulty coming to terms with Ronan’s breakup,” Gansey leans close to explain, for Adam’s benefit.

Adam controls his expression again. Noah texted him the news late last night, inconsolable and shocked. Adam had been alone in his own apartment at the time, thankfully, so no one could see the selfish, terrible chaos of laughter and shock and panic he’d experienced.

“Jesus. Okay, _Ronan_ is the one who broke up with someone,” Adam leans on his elbows. “But y’all are the ones who are depressed about it. Am I getting that straight?”

“Ronan’s not exactly happy either,” Blue shoots him a chastising look.

“Yeah, but not, uh … for the same reasons, right? You’re all just in love with Carter Gabriel.”

“He really does have some excellent connections,” Henry’s lips twist, artfully mournful.

“He was always too cool for us,” Noah sighs. “We’ll never be friends with anyone that cool again. And he’s so pretty. And talented.”

“This is ridiculous,” Adam grabs the sugar away from Noah and pours some into his coffee.

“I do hope he’ll be all right,” Gansey says.

“What did he say about it,” Noah pokes Adam from the other side. “Ronan, I mean.”

“He didn’t, not since … well. I knew he was thinking about it.”

“Seriously? For how long?”

“Ask him if you want to know,” Adam picks a bit of lint from his tie and stares down into his coffee.

He’s trying so hard to be normal, to be calm, but his heart won’t stop racing. He hasn’t even had any caffeine yet today.

“Is this gonna make his AA meetings awkward? Does he need to start going across town?” Noah pushes aside the newspaper that he clearly never even opened today. “I mean, that’s on him, right? I think the one who does the dumping should be the one who changes, like … chapters?”

“Do you think it’s weird if I still listen to his music?” Blue says, before anyone can respond to Noah's concerns. “I mean, not around Ronan, obviously.”

“Oh my God,” Adam drops his head back for a second. “I don’t think we need to, like … process Ronan’s breakup for him. As a group.”

“There are certain social dynamics to balance,” Gansey looks at him. “Don’t you think?”

“I need to go to work,” Adam slides his chair back again.

“You just got here,” Blue protests.

“I know, but I, um … I’ve got an early meeting.”

“When you talk to Ronan again, just, um,” Noah tugs his sleeve. “Tell us if he’s okay.”

“Yeah, I … of course.”

Adam gets to work a half hour earlier than necessary. He walks around the block. Twice. He sits in his closet-office and stares at the desk, then the wall, then at his phone. He types out a text to Ronan, then deletes it again.

The morning crawls by in a long, slow march of opening mail, sorting case numbers, and working through the filing basket.

At lunch, his fingertip hovers over the call button next to Ronan’s name, but he still can’t do it. He throws his phone into his bag in frustration.

Ronan’s barely out of his relationship with Carter. _Barely_. Adam can’t come swooping in there like a creep. Is that what he’s doing? He doesn’t know. He wants to hear Ronan’s voice, to see if he sounds normal or upset or what. But Adam’s afraid of what he’ll say, of how honest he’ll be.

Ronan knows he can come to Adam if he needs to talk. Right? He must.

Usually what Adam does when he’s feeling too many things at once is to start writing an email to Ronan, to try and think it through in a calmer, more exploratory manner. It works pretty well. He could still write one, and maybe even send it this time.

Adam still has forty-eight minutes left of his lunch break. He pulls up his school email account. He’s got a folder with thirteen messages in it - his Ronan Drafts folder. He starts a new one, yet again, and types for a while, stream-of-consciousness style, trying to be as honest as he can. So now his unsent Ronan drafts are up to fourteen.

But this time is going to be different. He selects all of them and sends them to the printer on his desk. Then he tucks everything into a manila envelope in his bag. He texts Gansey to ask for their mailing address. He’s going right by the post office on his walk back from the bus station.

He just wants Ronan to have … all of the information. That’s all. He doesn’t want to take advantage of post-breakup vulnerability. But he also can’t make himself wait a second longer to at least tell Ronan the whole truth. And then Ronan can do … whatever he wants with it.

 

* * *

 

**_Dear Ronan,_ **

**_Noah told me last night. You did it. You broke up with Carter._ **

**_I knew you were going to, but still, finding out it really happened, it was a shock, in some way. I’ve been trying all summer to accept it, as a concept - that you have a boyfriend. It’s been a struggle, to be honest, for lots of reasons, but it - I guess it had finally gotten through._ **

**_I wanted to call you or text you or something but I chickened out. I still want to. I will, when I can get my shit together. I want to know how you’re doing. Are you sad? Guilty? Angry? Do you miss him a lot already? Do you wish it had gone differently, that you’d felt more potential about him being … your person, like you told me? Were you up all night wandering the apartment, or driving out to the mountains and back? Did he cry or shout or break anything, when you told him? I bet he didn’t. I bet he was sweet and understanding._ **

**_I’m going to ask you those things. Whenever I can see you again. If you want to talk about them. I want you to be able to tell me anything and everything._ **

**_I want to give you the time and space you need. To work through all of it. But I’m also … well you know I’m selfish, Ronan. I’m only here for another month or so. I want to have the courage to tell you everything, and now that I know I want it, I don’t want to wait any longer._ **

**_I wish I had sent even one of these emails to you. I wish I didn’t feel now like I threw our friendship away, out of fear and confusion and some kind of unconscious rejection of the things I was afraid of. I’m not saying I was afraid of you, not at all, but I guess just … the way I really felt about you. But it’s still not a reason to just disappear on you._ **

**_I wish I’d been the one you could have talked to after your first AA meeting._ **

**_I wish I’d let myself think that I might actually deserve to think about you the way I think I always wanted to, deep down._ **

**_I wish I didn’t miss you so much even now when you’re in the same room with me._ **

**_I wish I could stop thinking about you in a way that feels like a betrayal of you and your friendship and your trust in me._ **

**_I wish you never had a boyfriend who wasn’t me. Do you want the truth? I hated it so much. It wasn’t right, for it not to be me, you and I both know that’s supposed to be me. It’s supposed to be me, Ronan. I wish it was me._ **

 

* * *

 

“Gansey, I hate to say this, but I think she’s gonna have to spend the night,” Adam leans around the propped-up hood of the overheated orange Camaro, taking in his friend’s crestfallen expression. “I don’t want you to take a chance on driving and get stranded, not when you’re out in the Blue Ridge mountains somewhere.”

“I had a whole romantic drive planned in the morning,” Gansey says, running his fingertips along the wheel well, like you’d maybe do to gently probe a beloved horse for injuries.

“What,” Henry says, pulling Gansey gently away from the Camaro, “exactly, is wrong with taking my car?”

“Your car is not a mountain-drive car,” Gansey pronounces crossly, and Henry rests his forehead against the back of Gansey’s head.

“Maybe I can get her running again in time,” Adam scratches at his temple as he thinks. This might be his way out of going over to Gansey’s. He’s been trying to think of an excuse. He doesn’t want to risk running into Ronan right now. He sent all those emotional meltdown emails to Ronan on a stupid whim, and it’s been four long days, and he hasn’t heard anything at all, and the idea of facing Ronan now is completely fucking mortifying.

“No, no, Adam, I don’t want you to work all night for this,” Gansey shakes his head; Henry’s swinging his own car keys around, rather slyly. “I need you to come give me some feedback on my presentation.”

“Okay,” Adam swallows. If Ronan’s grossed out or is going to tell him to get a life or whatever, or if Ronan’s giving him a taste of his own unresponsive medicine, maybe it’s for the best that they just get this fight over with now. Or, hell, maybe Ronan won’t be home. “Henry, can we take the loaner?”

“All yours,” Henry points to the desk drawer with spare keys and kisses Gansey’s cheek. “Bring it back tomorrow.”

They take the Mini Cooper with the British flag painted on the roof, but it doesn’t cheer Gansey up in the slightest.

Adam’s stomach tightens as he sees Ronan’s pristine BMW parked in the driveway of their apartment.

“I promise the presentation won’t take long,” Gansey is rambling as they head up the porch steps. “I only have a five-minute window with the Board, and they’re very strict on the agenda items, they specifically said I’d be allotted from ten-twenty to ten-twenty-five, I don’t know how they can possibly - oh, Christ, Ronan, can you never just once remember to get the mail?”

Adam blinks over at Gansey and freezes. Gansey’s wrestling a large bundle of mail from their box outside the front door. It doesn’t quite fit because of a large, familiar-looking manila envelope that’s bent around the other stuff, held together with a rubber band.

“... and if I can get them to understand that the flood plain was a cheap acquisition for a very good reason,” Gansey continues without a hitch, unlocking the door. Adam’s getting queasy. “That reason being it is completely unfit for real estate development, and obviously a threat to the native wildlife and their habitat -- Lynch! Remember when you said you’d start remembering to get the mail?”

Ronan’s door is open, and his music is staggeringly loud, as always. It cuts out abruptly, and Adam feels like he’s going to pass out. He wonders if Gansey would notice if Adam reached over and grabbed the envelope. Maybe if he gets a can of soda and accidentally spills it.

No, that’s not going to work. Gansey’s already sorting through the mail on the couch, placing the envelope in another small pile and picking it up again. Walking to meet Ronan, who’s … very much around and awake and about to come out here. Any second. Adam trails after Gansey.

“Gansey, I’ll give it to him,” Adam offers, in a faltering, chickenshit voice. But it’s too late. Ronan’s standing there in his black tank top and skinny blue jeans and bare feet, scowling at Gansey.

“I don’t get mail here,” Ronan is saying to Gansey, but his eyes are wandering over to Adam, looking him up and down. “Parrish. The fuck is the matter with you.”

“I … um,” Adam winces at his own transparency; Gansey looks over at him curiously and tilts his head.

“You do look awfully pale, all of a sudden, Adam. Are you feeling all right?”

“Mm-hmm,” Adam says, his gaze continually drawn to the envelope Ronan is now holding and ignoring. Maybe Ronan will just throw it away, thinking it’s junk mail, or from Declan, or whatever. Wouldn’t that be hilarious, after all Adam has agonized about those words.

Ronan’s onto him now, though. He narrows his eyes and follows Adam’s terrified glances and then clearly recognizes Adam’s handwriting on the outside of the envelope, because he looks up again at Adam, suspicious and sharp.

“Don’t … don’t open it yet,” Adam pleads; he can see Gansey’s confusion mounting, out of the corner of his eye. “Wait till I’m not here.”

Ronan lifts an eyebrow and of course, _of course_ he immediately rips it open.

“Ronan,” Adam hisses, but it doesn’t do any good. Ronan retrieves the stack of printed emails, and Adam covers his eyes with his fingers.

“These are probably also important,” Gansey is saying, using his shoe to poke at the other mail Ronan has now dumped onto the floor. “Okay, whatever, we discussed this. I’m going to load up my presentation. Adam, I’ll get you a Coke.”

“I still had all those saved in my school account,” Adam whispers to Ronan, once Gansey has disappeared. “Don’t read them all right now, I just thought maybe at some point you’d-”

“Shh,” Ronan points at Adam, then plunks himself down right there on the hardwood floor, in the middle of the hallway, absorbed in the first page.

“Can you just wait until I-”

“Parrish, can you go somewhere else to talk, I’m trying to read.”

“God,” Adam stalks away, down the hall to Gansey’s room, collapsing backward onto Gansey’s bed and staring helplessly up at the white popcorn ceiling.

“Are you coming down with something?” Gansey sits at Adam’s side, pressing the back of his hand to Adam’s forehead.

“I _came down_ with it a while ago,” Adam mutters, too quiet for Gansey to hear.

“You don’t feel feverish.”

“I’m okay,” Adam hauls himself up, sitting cross-legged and counting his breaths. He has done this to himself, and now he’s going to deal with whatever comes from it. If Ronan rejects him, then Adam will at least know the truth, and he’ll deal with it. He can’t just live in limbo like this forever.

“All right, well. Here goes. Don’t afraid to tell me what works, or what doesn’t work, or what loses your interest. Remember, I need to get their attention in five minutes! Enough to get them to understand what’s at stake.”

“Lay it on me, Gans,” Adam presses a hand to his raging stomach and settles in for a passionate five-minute talk on preserving natural wetlands.

It takes Gansey at least that long, first, to find where he’s saved his PowerPoint file, and then to remember how to get it to display full-screen on his monitor. But then they’re in business, as Gansey says, and he launches in. It’s a decent speech, well thought-out, and certainly bold in its intentions.

“When you’re talking about habitat changes, the screen is showing some kind of history of flood levels in the region,” Adam points out dutifully, tapping his ragged bitten-down fingernail against the half-empty can of Coke. “It’s a little confusing.”

“Oh! Oh, you’re right. I’ll switch the slides around, give me just a minute.”

Adam’s pulse is going to bust through his throat. He can’t sit still. His knees bounce and jump and he’s really going out of his mind without Gansey’s speech to distract him anymore.

Then he hears heavy, fast footsteps in the hall.

Gansey only looks up briefly to see that it’s Ronan, and goes back to PowerPoint. Ronan walks straight to Adam, to the bed, holding the stack of printed emails in his hand and glaring at him.

_Here we go. He’s going to tell you to get out of his sight and never talk to him again. You knew that was a possibility._

“What the fuck,” Ronan says, “are you doing in here?”

“I … You told me to go somewhere else! I’m helping Gansey, with his - his thing, his big speech-”

“Gansey, he’s done, I need him now,” Ronan clamps a hand onto Adam’s arm and pulls insistently. Adam gets up.

“I was going to run through it one more time,” Gansey protests, clicking and dragging something around on a PowerPoint slide, but Ronan’s already got Adam marched out of the room and halfway down the hall. Gansey lets them go.

“You asshole,” Ronan bursts out when they get back to the living room, spinning and letting Adam go. “You fucking - this is what I never got? You couldn’t have sent me a single one?”

“I know, I’m sorry, I-”

“You had all of these words for me? All this time?” Ronan shakes the pages, tosses them onto the couch, then looks at them and gathers them back up.

“I told you I kept starting them over-”

“I can’t believe you never told me any of this! What the fuck have we even been - Jesus!”

“Did you read them all?” Adam manages to ask, his hands deep in his pockets, his chest squeezing so tight he feels like his lungs are going to collapse.

Ronan looks at him, then at the hallway toward Gansey’s room, then back again. Adam can tell, somehow, that this is a yes.

“Why didn’t you tell me before,” Ronan’s stare is heavy and demanding and … and something else, maybe. Adam might be imagining it. He can’t give it a word yet. It’s too much to hope for.

“You had a boyfriend,” Adam’s fingers curl around his apartment keys, the metal digging into his skin. He still can’t breathe right, but he’s trying. He takes a step closer, so they can keep their voices down.

“I had a boyfriend because I didn’t think I could have you,” Ronan says.

Adam has to close his eyes.

“How can you even think I’d want anyone else? If I had known?” Ronan’s much closer now; Adam feels a hand at his elbow, sliding to his wrist, easing his fingers from his pocket. “I thought you were the smart one.”

“I’m not,” Adam laughs a little, his voice half stuck in his throat. He clutches at Ronan’s hand so he won’t fall over.

“You’re smart enough to know that it should have been you.”

Adam feels a weird fluttering against his stomach; he opens his eyes to see that Ronan’s smacked him with the stack of printed emails. He lets go of Ronan’s fingers and tries to string a thought or two together that’s not related to kissing Ronan.

“I know it’s too soon,” Adam says, watching Ronan analytically. “After everything with Carter. I know that. I was being selfish. I really just wanted you to know. Everything. Finally. But don’t, um. We don’t have to figure anything out tonight. Just … you know how to find me, if you want. When you’ve had some time to think about it.”

“Adam. For the love of Christ,” Ronan rolls his eyes. “Can I kiss you or not.”

“I, um … yes. But maybe not … right here, you know Gansey’s going to come looking for us-”

“Does it seem like I care,” Ronan says, holding Adam’s face steady and letting out a shaky little breath against Adam’s mouth before kissing him.

Adam loses his balance a little, at first, his knees structurally unsound at the sudden dizzying press of Ronan’s lips against his own.

Ronan’s kiss is slow and awkwardly genuine in a way Adam wants to preserve like a pressed flower, folded away within the pages of his own body, a place no one else could ever reach.

Adam kisses Ronan’s cheekbone, his jawline, the corner of his mouth. He wants it all for himself, now. He wants to be even closer, but Ronan’s got these stupid papers in between them.

“Can you - can you put these down for like five seconds,” Adam tries to grab them away, but Ronan’s too fast.

“Don’t touch them,” Ronan backs up, toward his room. “You’ll burn them or something, God only knows. They’re mine now.”

“Oh my God, just put them down-”

“Adam!” Gansey’s voice startles them both; Adam turns toward the hallway to hear him better. “I’ve got it fixed! Where’d you go?”

Ronan has hidden his emails away somewhere and is back to glare at Adam in outrage and shake his head.

“I promised him,” Adam whispers.

“Don’t you fucking _dare-_ ”

“I’ll be right there,” Adam calls over his shoulder.

Ronan’s eyes narrow, and he comes over to kiss Adam again, more decisive and declaratory this time. Adam gasps a little.

“It’s not gonna … take … long,” Adam insists, even though he himself is clutching at Ronan’s arms and not letting go.

“Fine. But then I’m getting you out of here. Ten minutes.”

Adam has to stand still, briefly, and close his eyes, get his heart to calm down. When he looks at Ronan again, Ronan’s pointing at the clock and raising his eyebrows. Adam laughs breathlessly and practically jogs down to Gansey’s room, depositing himself onto the bed again and wondering if his face is red.

Gansey spins in his desk chair and wheels it closer, folding his arms and looking at Adam, really studying him this time.

“Are you really serious about this,” Gansey keeps his voice very quiet. “You know he doesn’t operate any other way.”

“You’re not even gonna pretend you didn’t hear us?”

“Do you want me to?”

“No. I guess I don’t,” Adam rubs at his eye. “Yes, I’m serious, I told you that already, didn’t I? He’s all I want.”

“Okay. Well, then. Good. This is happening. Can I tell anyone yet? Can I at least tell Blue and Henry?”

“Yeah, I mean … they’re all gonna find out soon, anyway. Maybe y’all can call a big meeting to discuss.”

“Very funny. I wasn’t kidding about the presentation, though, Adam! I still want you to watch it one more time, please?”

“Clock’s ticking,” Adam glances toward Gansey’s door. He’s smiling, now, and he can’t stop. Gansey has to pause the presentation at least three times, because they’re both grinning, randomly and distractingly.

 

* * *

  

Ronan drives Adam home in his BMW so Gansey can have the loaner for his road trip tomorrow.

There’s so much to be said, but Adam can’t seem to hold any of the words in his head for long enough. He’s too busy feeling things. He doesn’t want to miss out on that part. He doesn’t want to question it over and over. He just wants to get caught up in a moment, for once. He's been trying for years to learn how to do that.

Ronan’s never been to this part of town at all, let alone Adam’s tiny apartment. There’s no space in Adam’s head for self-consciousness about it, though, when Ronan’s sneaking his hands into Adam’s pockets, from behind him, and resting his forehead on Adam’s shoulder. There’s barely enough room in his head to remember how to unlock his own door.

He lets himself feel a wave of awkwardness as they stand inside Adam’s apartment and he watches Ronan observe everything, turning around in a circle, taking in the single room. It’s not much to look at, but Adam’s past caring about any of that, not with Ronan.

Adam hangs up his keys on their little hook by the door and sits on the edge of his bed. He doesn’t want to be presumptuous, exactly, but the only other place to sit is at the fold-down kitchenette table.

Ronan walks over to the window and picks up the toy rocket ship. Adam had forgotten it was there.

“I was wondering what it looked like over here,” Ronan says, setting it back down and peeking through the blinds, toward the train tracks. “Wherever the hell you were staying.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. Another one of your mysteries. You’ve got so many, now.”

“I’ve had so many dreams about you here,” Adam confesses. “It feels so strange to see you here with me now, in this place. Doesn’t feel real.”

Ronan turns back toward him and watches him for a minute. Then he comes over and sits down facing Adam, rests the palm of his hand against the front of Adam’s shirt. Adam leans into the warmth of it.

“What kind of dreams,” Ronan kisses the edge of Adam’s jawline.

“All kinds. A lot about kissing you. Some about you visiting me at school. Sometimes just asking you questions, over and over. Um. One where we were lost in a mall and yelling at each other about where the food court was.”

“Wow. You’re so good at this sexy shit.”

“You didn’t have a shirt on in most of them,” Adam shrugs. “Does that make it better?”

“Kind of.”

“I was so embarrassed the first time,” Adam smooths the bedspread down beneath him. “It was so intense, and hot, and it felt so real, God, and then I saw you the next day ... I was so sure you could see it all over me. Being around you after those dreams, it was torture. I wanted you so bad and I just had to pretend I didn’t. I thought you knew. You’ve always been able to read me way too well.”

“I knew something was up with you, something new, something maybe about me,” Ronan’s mouth drifts over to Adam’s earlobe, to his chin, his throat, and Adam’s head drops back. He can’t quite believe this is happening. “I didn’t know it was … that. I’ve had dreams about you like that for years, you asshole.”

“Ronan,” Adam closes his eyes tight, as they’re burning a little.

“You always tell me it has to be a secret, that it won’t happen again, that you don’t like me like that. Whenever I dream about you.”

“Your dreams are lying,” Adam takes a deep breath, lifts his head again so he can see Ronan. Ronan has retreated a bit and is staring down at the bed, playing with Adam’s fingers, turning them over in his hands. Their knees are touching, just barely.

“Did you really try to call me? When you knew you were coming to D.C. this summer?” Ronan asks, dragging a fingertip very lightly over the palm of Adam’s hand, up to the inside of Adam’s wrist, making him shiver.

“Yes. I didn’t know you had a new number.”

“What do you really want from me,” Ronan squeezes Adam’s hand in both of his and looks at him, his eyes imploring, startlingly vulnerable. “You’re only here another month. Do you just want someone to kiss until you have to go back--”

“No,” Adam’s back straightens defensively, and he hugs his arms around his own stomach. “Ronan, come on, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Then why are you … why now, when you know you have to leave? How do you see this going? You and me?”

“Honestly?” Adam says without thinking, and the realizes what a stupid word it is to use with Ronan. Ronan’s scowling at him.

Adam chews at his lip for a second.

“If you fucking disappear on me again, Parrish, after _this_ , you don’t understand--”

“I’ll tell you exactly what I want,” Adam grabs at Ronan’s shirt, instinctively, and then lets go again when he realizes what he’s doing. “I’ll just -- God. I’ll just say it all and you can just stop me if you think it sounds crazy, okay?”

“Uh. Okay.”

“I want you to sleep over here, from now on, in this bed with me. I want you to get your shit tomorrow and bring it over here and use my stupid parking space that I’m paying for. I want to tell everyone you’re my boyfriend now and go on long drives with you at night and get you to tell me everything I’ve missed and … and make you fall in love with me. And in a month I want you to drive me back to campus and I’ll probably fucking cry all weekend about you having to leave me there but that’s what you’ll have to do. You’re not going to like it.”

“Adam-”

“And we’ll talk on the phone and text and email and all that,” Adam presses on, a little frantic now. “I’m not going to take a video of me eating Cheerios every morning or whatever Cheng does, but, um. We can handle it. It won’t be easy. I’ll sneak pictures of you and put them in my room, where I can see you if … _when_ I’m all hollowed out with missing you. I’ll figure out a way to come to you on my breaks and stuff. And ... and then I’ll graduate, right? And so we figure out where we can live to make it work after that. But I … I might go to grad school, Ronan, I mean I’m seriously considering it already, you should probably know that up front, so you can, like. Evaluate properly. You know? So you can have all the information. So you can decide.”

There’s a long moment of Adam’s words echoing in his own head, of Ronan staring at him in what looks like disbelief, of Adam realizing he’s said way too much and Ronan’s going to back slowly away and finally come to his senses about all of this-

“So I can decide _what_ ,” Ronan finally asks, reaching for Adam, running his fingers through Adam’s hair and holding him closer. “You think I would’ve kissed you if I hadn’t already decided? You know me better than that. What is there still to _decide_? I just wanted to know what the fuck it meant to you.”

“Well that’s why I’m telling you now,” Adam traces the line of Ronan’s cheekbone with his thumb. “Don’t whine to me about it six years from now that you thought I’d be done with this whole school thing already.”

“Six years?” Ronan groans, dropping his head into the crook of Adam’s neck.

“I mean. That’s only the master’s. Maybe just the coursework, I might need more than that if I’m doing a proper thesis-”

“I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I’m actually sorry I asked, will you please quit trying to scare me off and just shut up for a minute,” Ronan sighs and hauls Adam onto his lap, so they’re pressed against each other. Adam’s heart goes double-time, triple-time. Ronan holds him steady; Adam wraps his legs tight around Ronan’s waist.

There’s a faint, slow squealing sound outside. Adam didn’t notice it until now. He’s so used to it here that he barely notices until the trains are right outside his building.

“I just remembered something,” Adam mumbles, his finger slipping between Ronan’s tank top and his skin. “You’re not going to want to sleep here.”

“The hell I’m not,” Ronan gently tilts Adam’s chin up and kisses the hollow of Adam’s throat, his lips dragging lazily all over Adam’s neck.

“There’s a … a train coming,” Adam gasps. “Just wait, you’ll see.”

“Shh, I’m not going anywhere,” Ronan looks at him steadily, full of intention, and then kisses him. It’s soft and tentative at first, just a few seconds, but when Adam spreads his hands over Ronan’s back, Ronan’s kiss opens up, and Adam tumbles into it.

It doesn’t take long before Adam’s reeling, dizzy and euphoric. Ronan’s mouth is so demanding and relentless and makes Adam feel like he’s the only one in Ronan’s whole world. His knees are squeezing tighter around Ronan, his skin all warm and cold at the same time. They kiss for … for so long. Adam doesn’t know when or where he is anymore. He just _wants_. He wonders if this is what flying feels like to people who aren’t deathly afraid of it.

“Fuck,” Ronan breathes, shaky and fast, his eyes closed. “Could you _always_ kiss like that? Jesus Christ.”

Ronan’s fingers are curled around the hem of Adam’s t-shirt. Adam puts his arms up and lets Ronan yank his shirt off.

“This isn’t a dream,” Adam reminds himself, and realizes too late that he said it out loud. The train’s noisy enough now to mask it a little, but he knows Ronan heard him. Ronan leans back on the bed and pulls Adam down on top of him. Adam has to brace himself with his hands on the bedspread to keep his balance.

Ronan’s tank top is all crooked and bunched up; Adam works it off and concentrates on kissing the skin he’s exposed. Ronan’s got an iron grip on Adam’s legs. Adam can feel how hard they both are, and he has to gulp in a breath, his lips trailing over Ronan’s stomach. It’s just like his dream. But it’s not a dream. It’s not a dream.

The train’s brakes are screaming; pretty soon the windows will rattle a little. Adam looks up. Ronan’s face is turned toward the source of the sound, and then he’s grinding his hips up into Adam’s and Adam lets out a noisy gasp despite himself.

His walls are so thin. But the train. He’s never been so grateful for the presence one of these godforsaken trains before. He doesn’t think anyone will hear him over the cacophony outside.

He goes back up for another long, fervent kiss that has his blood pounding in his ears. Ronan’s swearing again when Adam pulls away to breathe.

Adam’s mind is all made up now. He crawls down the bed, fighting with the button on Ronan’s jeans. His hands are shaking, so it’s more complicated than it needs to be to get the rest of Ronan’s clothes off. He kisses the angled line of Ronan’s hipbone, to signal his further intentions. He glances up at Ronan again.

Ronan’s saying something, and Adam can’t quite hear it. He needs to make sure it’s not something bad.

“What?” Adam climbs up closer, and Ronan grabs at his cheeks, holding him there and staring him in the eye.

“Parrish,” he says, his voice rising. “Have you ever … done this before?”

“I … um. Only when I was dreaming about you.”

“Fuck. The things you say. Okay, I know. You don’t have to-”

“I know I don’t _have to_ ,” Adam rolls his eyes. “Just, like … tell me if I’m … doing it wrong.”

“Oh, God,” Ronan lets go of him, drops his hands to his sides.

Adam quickly figures out that a dream is very different than reality, and this is significantly more of a challenge than he’d anticipated. But he’s always been a quick study.

He has to use his hands, a little, and he’s not sure if that’s how it’s supposed to go, but the way Ronan’s back is arching up off the bed makes Adam think it’ll still work okay. He thinks he can faintly hear his own name a couple of times amongst the shattering, rhythmic sounds of the train just outside his window. He’s never been more turned on in his whole life. Ronan fumbles around with Adam’s hair, pulls Adam off him before he comes, spasming and gasping.

Adam knows Ronan’s doing it to protect him, somehow. But at least this way Adam gets to watch Ronan’s face as he comes apart. The lights from outside strobe over Ronan’s face and arms and shoulders, and Adam’s heart shudders in his chest.

“You could’ve let me,” Adam grabs at Ronan’s shoulders and they cling to each other for a minute. He has to speak right at Ronan’s ear to know he’s being heard.

Ronan gives him a _shut up_ look and pulls Adam over until he’s sitting at the edge of the bed. He gets Adam’s jeans and underwear off and kneels on the floor, pulls Adam down for a kiss and then essentially swallows Adam down in less than a second. Adam’s mouth drops open. He claws at the blanket, inching his hips up closer to Ronan without meaning to. He’s never felt anything like it, and he’ll be obliterated in no time.

“Oh my _God_ ,” Adam’s stomach clenches - his whole body, really. He doesn’t know if Ronan can hear him. He doesn’t really know what’s happening at all. He was already on the edge just from watching Ronan. He didn’t know Ronan could do this, that _anyone_ could, really. He’s half laughing in sheer disbelief when he realizes he’s going to come any second; it’s humiliatingly fast.

“Ronan,” he gives Ronan’s shoulder a couple of squeezes, in quick succession, trying to warn him, now he sort of gets why Ronan didn’t let him - God, but Ronan just goes deeper, and Adam can’t hold off any longer, he lets go, he lets Ronan have control of the whole thing.

He’s floating. His throat is really dry, but he ... he’s weightless. He thinks he can see stars.

Ronan vanishes for a minute or so. Then he comes back and lies down on the bed, brings Adam with him, folds Adam close against his chest, kisses his hair and forehead and rubs his back, up and down his spine, giving him goosebumps. The train’s still at it another few minutes before it starts to fade away enough so they can hear themselves think again.

“I told you the trains were loud,” Adam traces little designs over Ronan’s heart. “It’s hard to sleep when they’re that close.”

“Then we won’t sleep,” Ronan says and flips Adam onto his back, then kisses his way down the side of Adam’s neck.

“God. You and your fucking mouth,” Adam groans.

“You’re one to talk, you little shit.”

Adam laughs, even though he’s got tears in his eyes, for some reason. He’s going to let it happen. He’s not going to dissect it, or second-guess it.

He wonders if another train will come by. Maybe. He can hope, at least.

 

* * *

 

**_Dear Ronan,_ **

**_I made it through the first day. I honestly didn’t know if I could, knowing you’re driving back and getting further and further away from me with every fucking second. It’s even worse than I expected. Is it this bad for you, too?_ **

**_But I did it. And I’ve got some good classes this time around and … and I know you know this already, I just got off the phone with you._ **

**_Send me pictures of the farm, please? And call me again when you’re home safe. I miss you._ **

**_Talk to you soon._ **

**_Love_ ,  
** **_Adam_ **

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from "Never Knock" by Kevin Garrett.
> 
> I've been trying and failing to write pynch again for so long. I've finally finished this one, so I'm just going to put it here & get it out of my brain. Thanks so much to my writer friends who have inspired me and coached me and supported me and got me back to a place where I could write anything again.
> 
> feel free to direct your hatemail re: which college Adam's supposed to attend toward my [tumblr](http://burn-it-slow.tumblr.com)
> 
> p.s., there's a [playlist for this fic on spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/burn-it-slow/playlist/2GQn4FeRPT07SADUee7FAm), if you're into those.


End file.
